'I  i  — 


AN 

IMMORTAL 
SOUL 


W.  H.  MALLOCK 


AN 

IMMORTAL    SOUL 


BY 
W.    H.    MALLOCK 

AUTHOR   OF 

'  A  ROMANCE  OF  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY  ' 
"  A   HUMAN   DOCUMENT  "   ETC. 


HARPER  &   BROTHERS    PUBLISHERS 

NEW    YORK    AND    LONDON 
MC  MVI  I  I 


Copyright,  1908,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 

All  rights  reserved. 
Published  October,  1908. 


STACK 
ANNEX 


PR 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 


BOOK    I 


AN   IMMORTAL  SOUL 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  deep-sunken,  earthy  lane,  just  wide  enough  for 
the  passage  of  a  cart,  climbed  upward  in  zigzags 
between  the  pastures  and  ploughlands  of  the  hill.  With 
the  wisps  of  hay  and  straw  caught  in  the  brambles 
which  hung  over  it,  and  the  primroses  which  in  wavering 
lines  illuminated  the  slopes  below  them,  it  might  have 
been  a  little  artery  wandering  into  the  very  heart  of 
Arcadian  England.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  stopped 
short  at  a  rough  gate  which  committed  the  pedestrian 
to  a  foot-path  and  a  rising  field.  The  field  was  studded 
with  gorse  bushes,  of  which  those  on  the  higher  levels 
showed  their  prickles  and  their  blossoms  against  the  sky. 

The  afternoon  sun  of  a  mild  March  was  shining,  almost 
as  warm  and  brilliant  as  the  suns  of  the  south  of  France, 
when  a  well-dressed  man,  with  a  brown  Tyrolean  hat, 
and  a  pearl  in  each  of  the  shirt-cuffs  which  emerged 
from  the  Scotch  homespun  of  his  sleeves,  made  his  way 
up  the  lane  as  though  he  were  an  exploring  stranger. 
During  the  course  of  his  leisurely  ascent,  however, 
though  the  quarter  of  the  sky  facing  him  was  still  clear 
and  cloudless,  he  noticed  that  a  curious  dimness  was 
creeping  over  the  objects  round  him,  and  he  presently 
looked  back  to  discover  the  cause  of  so  abrupt  a  change. 

The  scene  which  met  his  eyes  was  singular.  The  hill- 
side commanded  a  blue  expanse  of  sea,  which  a  crescent 
of  coast,  extending  for  some  forty  miles  and  curving 

3 


AN    IMMORTAL    SOUL 

along  the  distant  horizon  into  a  vanishing  horn  of  mist, 
embraced  as  an  enormous  bay.  A  succession  of  red 
headlands  was  still  brightly  illuminated,  but  the  surface 
of  the  waves  was  disappearing  under  volumes  of  thick, 
low-lying  vapor,  which,  having  charged  the  foot  of  the 
hill  already,  was  advancing  up  the  lane  like  the  smoke 
of  burning  weeds.  The  invasion  was  so  impetuous  that 
the  stranger,  when  he  had  reached  the  gate,  was  no 
longer  in  sunshine,  but  in  a  gray,  diaphanous  twilight, 
as  if  he  had  climbed  up  the  magic  bean-stalk  into  some 
visionary  and  incalculable  world.  He  was  soon  tempted 
to  think  that  he  had  done  this  in  reality. 

Having  surmounted  the  gate,  he  paused  and  again 
looked  round  him.  He  was  a  man  who  had  passed  the 
prime  but  not  the  vigor  of  life.  His  mustache,  indeed, 
and  an  imperial  which  gave  him  a  slightly  foreign  ap- 
pearance, showed  a  few  threads  of  silver;  but  the  lines 
round  his  clear  gray  eyes  spoke  less  of  age  than  ex- 
perience; and  there  was  an  unimpaired  vitality  in  the 
smile,  not  displeasingly  cynical,  which  lurked  in  the 
corners  of  his  mouth  as  he  watched  the  proceedings  of 
the  weather.  He  had  hardly  resumed  his  way  when 
there  was  a  new  development  of  the  unexpected.  This 
was  a  vague  sound,  startling  in  the  general  silence. 
When  first  his  ears  grew  aware  of  it  he  ascribed  it  to  a 
flock  of  birds  twittering — so  he  supposed — in  the  hedge 
which  the  foot-path  skirted.  But  on  turning  to  look 
for  them  he  soon  found  out  his  error.  It  happened  that 
the  hedge  close  to  him  was  broken  into  an  oval  gap; 
and  through  this,  as  through  the  frame  of  a  picture,  he 
saw  before  him  a  spectacle  of  a  whimsically  surprising 
kind.  He  saw,  softened  by  the  mist  and  moving  in 
colored  groups,  a  number  of  girls — perhaps  twenty — 
engaged  in  the  game  of  hockey.  Half  of  them  wore 
coquettish  little  caps  of  scarlet;  the  other  half,  similar 
caps  of  gleaming  turquoise-blue.  They  were  otherwise 
dressed  variously,  and  in  skirts  of  different  lengths,  their 
ages  varying,  apparently,  from  twelve  up  to  seventeen. 

4 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

Their  movements  had  the  grace  of  performers  in  an 
operatic  ballet;  and  presently  the  stranger,  who  was 
standing  amused  and  motionless,  began  to  distinguish 
the  inflections  of  their  voices,  and  now  and  then  a  word. 
The  young  ladies  spoke — he  soon  realized  this — no  less 
daintily  than  they  moved.  If  they  formed  a  school,  as 
no  doubt  they  did,  it  was  plainly  a  school  of  the  class 
which  advertisements  call  "select."  Gradually,  from 
the  many  figures,  he  began  to  pick  out  several  whose 
exploits  he  found  himself  following  with  a  sort  of  per- 
sonal interest.  One  in  particular  became  before  long 
his  heroine.  Her  carriage  and  the  contour  of  her  slim 
and  flexible  form  struck  him  as  more  mature  than  the 
carriage  and  contours  of  the  rest.  She  swung  round, 
whenever  the  occasion  required,  with  a  charming  mixt- 
ure of  abandonment  and  absolute  self-possession  which 
suggested  that  she  would  be  a  perfect  dancer.  Though 
the  game  seemed  to  excite  her,  she  nevertheless  played 
it  with  a  certain  air  of  condescension;  and  while  the 
hands  of  many  of  the  players  were  bare,  and  shone  like 
pink  roses,  this  girl  was  gloved  fastidiously,  and  seemed 
finished  from  head  to  foot. 

The  stranger  had  begun  to  speculate,  beguiled  by  an 
idle  curiosity,  as  to  what  she  could  be  doing  there  with 
associates  in  many  ways  so  different  from  herself;  but 
his  thoughts  had  not  strayed  far  when  the  performance 
showed  signs  of  ending,  and,  not  without  some  regret, 
he  abruptly  resumed  his  walk.  He  had  not,  however, 
proceeded  for  more  than  a  hundred  yards  when  the  foot- 
path brought  him  to  the  open  gate  of  the  hockey-field, 
and  the  same  idle  curiosity  brought  him  to  a  halt  once 
more.  On  the  bars  of  the  gate  hung  a  number  of  the 
young  ladies'  coats,  emitting  a  shimmer  from  their  vari- 
ously colored  silk  linings;  and  the  young  ladies  them- 
selves were  by  this  time  coming  toward  them. 

The  small  girls  came  up  first,  under  the  charge  of  a 
maternal  mistress,  whose  pleasant  face  was  prim  with 
all  the  correctnesses;  and  a  scuffle  ensued  with  refrac- 

5 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

tory  sleeves  and  collars,  which  was  followed  by  much  re- 
arrangement of  tangled  and  floating  hair.  The  elder 
girls  came  more  slowly,  the  stranger's  heroine  among  the 
last.  Her  face,  her  figure,  her  bearing,  now  he  saw  them 
at  closer  quarters,  struck  him  as  even  more  mature  than 
he  had  at  first  been  tempted  to  imagine;  but  he  pres- 
ently realized  that  the  impression  thus  produced  on  him 
was  due,  partly  at  all  events,  to  some  change  in  the 
girl  herself.  Her  movements  had  lost,  not  indeed  their 
grace,  but  their  elasticity.  The  mere  act  of  walking 
seemed  to  have  become  an  effort  to  her,  and  she  was, 
moreover,  noticeably  pale;  and,  had  it  not  been  for  a 
certain  singularity  in  her  expression,  he  would  have  sup- 
posed that  she  had  overtired  herself  and  was  possibly  on 
the  verge  of  fainting.  But  watching  her  more  narrowly, 
as  two  assiduous  companions  were  investing  her  in  some 
long  and  very  elegant  garment,  he  was  confirmed  in  the 
conviction,  which  at  first  was  hardly  credible  to  him, 
that  what  was  affecting  her  was  not  fatigue,  but  terror. 
What  there  could  be  to  terrify  her  it  passed  his  wit  to 
conjecture,  but  the  undoubted  fact  remained.  With  her 
lips  slightly  parted  and  her  eyes  wide  open  and  fixed,  she 
was  the  image  of  one  who  is  waiting  for  the  approach  of 
some  dreaded  danger.  The  incident  was  so  curious  and 
inexplicable  that  he  had  quite  forgotten  to  question  his 
right  to  a  prolonged  observation  of  it,  when  the  girl's 
eyes,  to  his  embarrassment,  suddenly  met  his  own.  In 
hers,  however,  he  detected,  with  a  surprise  that  was  like 
a  shock,  not  embarrassment,  but  relief,  and  he  could  al- 
most have  fancied  recognition.  A  second  glance  on  his 
part  convinced  him  that  she  was  a  total  stranger,  and, 
fearing  that  he  might  be  misleading  her  into  taking  him 
for  somebody  else,  he  was  turning  sharply  away  when  a 
singular  event  arrested  him.  From  somewhere  beyond 
the  mist  came  a  rumble  of  distant  thunder.  The  effect 
on  the  girl  was  instantaneous.  She  gripped  the  arm 
of  the  companion  who  was  standing  next  her,  and  ex- 
claimed, with  a  gasp:  "It  is  coming  this  way!  I  feel 

6 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

it!"  Her  cheeks  were  by  this  time  bloodless  and  her 
body  was  trembling  visibly. 

The  other  girl  did  what  she  could  to  calm  her,  but, 
obviously  frightened  by  the  unmanageable  fright  of  her 
friend,  she  called  out  with  a  nervous  laugh  to  the  mis- 
tress : 

"Oh,  Miss  Hazel,  please  come  here  —  come  quick! 
Nest  thinks  that  the  thunder  is  going  to  gobble  her  up." 

The  mistress  at  once  responded.  The  situation  seem- 
ed to  alarm  her,  but  she  did  not  seem  unprepared  for  it, 
and  she  hastened  toward  the  sufferer  with  an  air  of 
drastic  maternity,  provoking,  as  the  stranger  did  not 
fail  to  notice,  a  cautious  giggling  among  the  younger 
members  of  her  flock,  who  observed  to  one  another  that 
"the  Nut  was  exactly  like  a  clucking  old  hen." 

"My  dear  Miss  Vivian,"  she  ejaculated,  "what  is  all 
this  about,  pray?  Don't  tell  me  you're  worrying  about 
a  silly  little  bit  of  thunder.  If  you  want  to  worry  about 
anything,  you  ought  to  be  worrying  about  the  rain, 
which  indeed  is  commencing  now.  Run  back  with  us, 
if  you  don't  want  to  be  drenched,  and  we'll  send  you  to 
your  home  afterward,  dry  and  comfortable,  in  a  cab. 
My  dear,  don't  think  about  the  thunder.  It's  miles 
away — miles,  miles." 

"It's  not,"  said  the  girl,  vehemently.  "It's  close, 
and  it's  coming  closer.  Look — there's  a  man  over  th^re. 
A  man  will  know;  I'll  ask  him." 

The  words  were  still  on  her  lips  when  another  clap 
was  audible ;  and  the  stranger  had  hardly  time  to  realize 
what  was  happening  when  he  found  that  this  young  lady, 
who  a  moment  ago  had  been  a  vision  for  him,  was  grasp- 
ing one  of  his  hands  as  a  drowning  man  grasps  a  rope, 
was  asking  him  with  her  lips  if  the  storm  were  near  or 
far,  and  beseeching  him  with  her  eyes  to  protect  her 
against  its  vague  malignity.  "  You  wouldn't,"  she  add- 
ed, "  think  me  an  idiot  if  you  knew  how  my  heart  was 
beating." 

Many  men,  if  appealed  to  in  this  astonishing  way  by 
7 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

a  highly  ornamental  school-girl,  in  the  sight  of  all  her 
school-fellows,  might  have  made  the  situation  ridiculous 
at  once  for  himself  and  her.  The  stranger,  however, 
showed  himself  perfectly  equal  to  the  occasion.  He  did 
not  even  betray  surprise.  His  expression,  as  he  looked 
at  her,  was  indicative  of  grave  amusement,  touched,  but 
touched  so  subtly  that  she  alone  could  be  conscious  of  it, 
with  the  sympathy  of  a  man  familiar  with  the  ways  of 
women. 

"I  can  only  hope,"  he  said,  "that  your  heart  will 
never  beat  for  anything  which  is  likely  to  trouble  you 
more  than  to-day's  thunder.  I  know,"  he  continued, 
"about  thunder-storms  better,  perhaps,  than  most  peo- 
ple, and  I'll  answer  for  the  conduct  of  this  one." 

His  manner  had  abruptly  altered,  the  reason  being 
his  perception  of  the  near  presence  of  Miss  Hazel,  who, 
rigid  with  scandalized  anxiety,  was  preparing  to  inter- 
rupt the  interview. 

Miss  Hazel,  it  was  evident  from  every  line  about  her 
compressed  lips,  was  one  of  that  sisterhood  whose  con- 
ception of  all  indecorum  is  apt  to  be  embodied  in  the 
person  of  the  unintroduced  male,  and  who  always  carry 
about  with  them  a  sheathed  stiletto  of  rudeness,  ready 
to  repel  the  insult  of  attentions  that  never  come.  Un- 
spoken disapproval,  which  would  have  expressed  itself 
in  rudeness  presently,  was  gathering  its  forces  in  her 
naturally  benignant  eyes  when  all  her  aggressive  prep- 
arations were  frustrated  by  the  stranger's  action.  Dis- 
engaging his  hand  from  the  girl's  with  a  sort  of  con- 
fidential brusquerie,  he  turned  to  the  guardian  goddess, 
who  found  herself,  instead  of  attacking  him,  obeying  a 
gesture  on  his  part  which  invited  her  to  a  private  con- 
ference. There  was  a  courteous  self-possession  in  his 
manner  which  made  rudeness  impossible,  but  it  opened 
the  door  for  her  to  an  explanation  which  suited  her 
purpose  equally. 

"I  am,"  she  said,  with  refrigerating  dignity,  " quite 
unaware  whom  I  have  the  privilege  of  addressing,  but, 

8 


AN    IMMORTAL    SOUL 

whoever  you  may  be,  I  must  apologize  to  you  for  the 
strangeness  of  that  young  lady.  This  is  Miss  Aldritch's 
school.  All  the  girls  belong  to  the  very  first  families 
in  the  land.  Two  of  those  little  ones  are,  indeed,  daugh- 
ters of  noblemen.  So  I  must  tell  you  that  Miss  Vivian — 
who  only  comes  to  us  for  her  German,  and  is  residing 
here  with  her  aunt,  a  lady  of  title — deserves  to  be  ex- 
cused on  account  of  her  peculiar  health.  The  slightest 
nervous  shock — and  a  thunder-storm  appears  to  upset 
her  more  than  anything  else — may,  so  her  doctors  say, 
produce  some  serious  crisis.  If,  therefore,"  Miss  Hazel 
continued,  "since  Miss  Vivian  seems  to  think  that 
gentlemen  must  understand  thunder-storms,  you  could 
inform  her  in  my  hearing  that  there  really  is  not  the 
least  danger,  we  can  get  her  back  to  the  school  without 
any  grave  mischief,  and  then  we  can  send  her  to  her 
home,  which  unfortunately  is  in  another  direction." 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  the  stranger,  unbuttoning  his  coat 
and  beginning  to  feel  for  something  secreted  in  an  in- 
ternal pocket.  "  I've  a  sister  who  suffers  from  thunder 
in  very  much  the  same  way.  Perhaps  if  you'll  look  at 
my  card  it  will  justify  you  in  letting  me  help  you  to 
better  purpose  than  I  could  do  by  merely  giving  an 
opinion  about  the  weather.  In  this  part  of  the  world 
my  name  is  sufficiently  familiar,  though  I  have  myself 
been  absent  for  something  like  twenty  years." 

Miss  Hazel  inspected  the  card  with  the  screwed-up 
eyes  of  an  inquisitor,  but  no  sooner  had  she  deciphered 
it  than  her  face  underwent  a  change,  which  would,  had 
she  only  been  a  housekeeper,  have  been  the  prelude  to  a 
respectful  courtesy. 

"Oh,  indeed!"  she  exclaimed.  "Sir  Rawlin,  forgive 
my  stupidity.  I  ought  to  have  known  you  by  your 
photographs.  The  papers  here  have  been  full  of  them." 

"I  may  at  all  events  thank  them,"  he  said,  "for  pro- 
viding me  with  a  proof  of  my  identity.  And  now, 
madam,  if  you  are  good  enough  to  think  me  trustworthy, 
what  I  would  venture  to  propose  is  this:  that  I  should 

9 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

see  Miss  Vivian  —  is  that  her  name  ?  —  safe  to  her  own 
door  myself,  and  leave  you  free  to  attend  to  your  other 
charges,  who  had  better  be  off  at  once,  for  the  drizzle  has 
begun  already." 

Miss  Hazel's  face  was  by  this  time  beaming  with  grati- 
fication and  relief. 

"Miss  Vivian,  my  dear,"  she  said,  "do  you  hear  what 
this  gentleman  proposes?  This  is  Sir  Rawlin  Stantor. 
We  all  of  us  know  his  name,  and  we  hope  he  will  soon 
be  member  for  our  part  of  the  county.  He  offers,  with 
most  obliging  kindness,  to  accompany  you  straight  home. 
Sir  Rawlin  Stantor  —  Miss  Wynn  Vivian.  Miss  Wynn 
Vivian  —  Sir  Rawlin  Stantor.  Lady  Susannah  will  be 
perfectly  satisfied  if  I  trust  you  to  his  discretion." 

The  girl  signified  her  acquiescence  in  words  that  were 
hardly  distinguishable,  but  her  face,  though  it  still  was 
pale,  lit  up  as  her  eyes  caught  those  of  her  promised 
escort. 

"Well,  then,"  Miss  Hazel  continued,  addressing  the 
rest  of  her  flock,  "it  is  high  time  that  we  were  moving. 
So  now,  step  out  briskly,  and  be  careful  where  you're 
going  in  the  mist." 

Miss  Hazel's  allusion  to  the  mist  was  very  far  from 
being  uncalled  for.  A  puff  of  wind  had  so  thickened  it 
about  the  path  which  she  and  her  little  company  now 
proceeded  to  take  that  they  were  very  soon  invisible 
from  the  spot  where  they  had  been  lately  standing, 
while  the  two  who  were  left  behind  could  now  hardly 
distinguish  any  objects  but  each  other. 


CHAPTER   II 

THE  young  girl  and  this  strange  protector  of  hers, 
whom  she  had  never  seen  before,  found  themselves 
absolutely  alone  together  in  what  seemed  to  be  a  bound- 
less solitude.  For  the  moment  they  could  do  nothing 
but  remain  patiently  where  they  were,  while  isolating 
vapor  floated  and  soaked  around  them. 

"Thank  Heaven,  they're  gone!"  she  said,  with  a  deep 
sigh  of  relief.  "  How  good  of  you  to  take  compassion 
on  me!  I  shall  soon  be  better  now.  All  the  same,  I 
am  not  feeling  very  firm  on  my  feet  yet.  Will  you  let 
me  stay  quiet  for  a  moment,  and  will  you  help  me  to 
steady  myself  ?  It's  my  nerves  are  upset,  not  me.  I'm 
not  a  fool  in  reality." 

Her  figure,  as  she  spoke,  wavered  a  little,  and,  waiting 
for  no  permission,  she  quietly  took  possession  of  his  arm, 
as  though  the  fog  were  a  ballroom  and  she,  tired  with 
dancing,  were  giving  herself  to  the  care  of  a  favorite  and 
familiar  partner.  A  passer-by  who  had  come  upon  them 
might  have  taken  them  for  a  pair  of  lovers. 

Here  was  a  situation  which  Miss  Hazel  had  not  fore- 
seen. The  man's  demeanor,  however,  could  she  have 
witnessed  it,  would  have  done  much  to  relieve  her. 
Allowing  the  girl  to  rest  her  weight  on  him  as  frankly 
as  inclination  prompted  her,  he  first  talked  a  little  about 
thunder-storms  and  human  nerves — a  subject  which  he 
treated  lightly — and  then  went  on  to  ask  her  a  few 
natural  questions  as  to  where  her  home  was  situated 
and  the  relations  with  whom  she  lived.  The  conversa- 
tion which  thus  resulted  had  evidently  the  effect  of 
calming  her.  Her  present  home,  she  told  him,  was 

a  II 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

something  like  a  mile  away.  She  was  living  there  as  a 
supposed  invalid,  though  she  resented  the  term  herself, 
with  an  aunt  and  three  cousins.  The  aunt,  it  appeared, 
was  a  Lady  Susannah  Lipscombe.  The  family  name  of 
the  cousins — two  boys  and  a  sister — was  Arundel.  Her 
lips,  as  she  spoke  of  these  matters,  betrayed  a  certain 
sense  of  amusement. 

"One  of  the  boys,"  she  went  on,  "is  Oswald.  The 
other  is  Mr.  Hugo.  The  sister  is  Nina.  She's  ever  so 
many  years  older.  Oswald  writes  poetry,  and  is  going, 
by-and-by,  to  be  a  diplomat.  Nina  keeps  hens.  But 
you'll  see  what  they're  like  yourself,  for,  of  course,  when 
we  get  back,  you  will  have  to  come  in  to  tea." 

The  man,  meanwhile,  in  spite  of  his  seeming  detach- 
ment, had  been  watching  her  curiously,  with  a  critical 
and  increasing  interest.  The  piquancy  of  her  face,  with 
its  astonishingly  delicate  skin,  produced  an  impression 
on  him  of  something  more  formed  and  decided  than  is 
usually  met  with  in  the  faces  of  young  girls;  while  the 
well-controlled  modulations  of  her  voice,  her  unhesitat- 
ing choice  of  words,  and  the  accent  of  mundane  experi- 
ence which  betrayed  itself  in  her  mention  of  her  relations, 
all  made  him  feel  that  a  woman  rather  than  a  girl  was 
leaning  on  him — a  feeling  which  was  subtly  accentuated 
by  the  various  details  of  her  dress.  Her  outer  garment, 
which  was  white,  with  red  collar  and  cuffs,  could,  as  was 
obvious  to  even  his  obtuse  male  mind,  have  come  only 
from  a  master  among  ladies'  tailors.  It  was  equally 
obvious  that  a  pearl  which  nestled  at  her  throat  was  more 
valuable  than  similar  ornaments  generally  worn  by  girls ; 
and  a  movement  of  the  gloved  and  slenderly  propor- 
tioned hand,  which  lay  on  his  arm  unflinchingly,  let  slip 
into  sight  a  bracelet  with  a  curious  device  in  diamonds 
— a  miniature  dove  half  hidden  in  something  that  might 
have  passed  for  a  saucer,  if  it  had  not  been  that  under 
it  twinkled  the  word  "Nest." 

She  was  silent  for  a  time,  when  she  had  given  her 
account  of  her  family,  and  her  fingers  began  to  trifle 

12 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

with  the  folds  of  her  companion's  sleeve,  as  though  she 
were  considering  the  pattern  of  it. 

"  I  ought,"  she  said,  "to  apologize  for  taking  up  your 
time  like  this.  Are  you  sure  you  don't  mind  my  drag- 
ging you,  I  don't  know  how  far,  out  of  your  way?"  She 
looked  up  at  him  with  appeal  between  her  long  eye- 
lashes. 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  laughing,  "I  think  I  may  say  I'm 
sure.  ...  Is  this  nature  or  art  ?"  the  man  could  not  avoid 
asking  himself.  "If  it  is  art,"  he  reflected,  "she  is  a 
finished  coquette  already." 

Her  eyes  were  once  more  cast  down,  and  her  lashes 
made  a  dark  shade  on  the  returning  color  of  her  cheek. 

"You,"  she  said,  slowly,  in  a  tone  of  meditative  con- 
tent, "  are  a  strong  and  very  restful  person.  It's  getting 
clearer  at  last.  In  a  minute  I  shall  be  up  to  walking. 
To  be  supported  by  you  has  given  me  confidence." 

Surprised  at  length  out  of  his  carefully  guarded  re- 
serve by  the  tone  of  this  culminating  utterance,  the  man 
laid  his  hand  on  hers. 

"My  dear,"  he  exclaimed,  "thank  you."  Then  he 
abruptly  recovered  himself  and  drew  a  little  away  from 
her.  "  Tell  me,"  he  said.  He  paused,  and  she  saw  that 
he  was  slightly  smiling.  "  Tell  me  " — and  he  spoke  with 
a  sort  of  teasing  slowness — "  do  I  give  you  more  con- 
fidence than  the  'Nut'?" 

She  snatched  her  hand  from  his  arm  and  broke  into 
an  amused  laugh. 

"How  on  earth,"  she  said,  "did  you  know  that  she 
was  called  that?" 

He  solved  the  mystery,  and  they  both  of  them  laughed 
once  more. 

"  Ah,"  she  said,  "the  mist  is  clearing.  If  you're  ready 
to  start,  I  am.  We  can  see  the  path  quite  plainly.  It 
runs  between  those  bushes.  But  wait,  please,  for  one 
moment.  See,  there's  a  gleam  of  sunshine.  My  cousin, 
Mr.  Hugo,  who's  a  man  of  science,  or  a  boy  of  science,  or 
a  baby  of  science,  says  that  the  world  was  all  made  out  of 

13 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

vapor.  You  might  think  he  was  right  now.  Bush  after 
bush,  tree  after  tree,  is  being  born  again.  Do  let  us 
wait  and  watch." 

Her  words,  indeed,  were  not  inapplicable  to  what  was 
actually  happening.  Through  the  mist,  which  was  now 
being  dissipated  almost  as  rapidly  as  it  had  been  formed, 
the  shapes  of  remoter  objects  were,  one  after  one,  re- 
appearing. The  gorse  bushes  grew  distinct  again,  and 
then  in  the  quarter  toward  which  their  path  would  take 
them  loomed,  a  little  way  off,  the  darkness  of  a  wood  of 
fir-trees.  On  all  sides  the  opaque  whiteness  was  turning 
to  a  transparent  silver,  through  which  it  became  grad- 
ually manifest  that  the  gorse-field  formed  the  highest 
portion  of  a  great  promontory  or  peninsula,  several  miles 
in  length  and  possibly  two  in  breadth,  the  ground  de- 
scending indistinctly  in  three  directions  toward  the  sea, 
and  the  sea  itself  in  places  growing  faintly  visible  also. 
Then,  through  the  straight  trunks  and  the  blotted  foliage 
of  the  wood,  certain  chalk-white  surfaces  showed  them- 
selves, too  definite  in  their  outline  to  be  remnants  of  the 
retreating  mist.  What  these  were  was  not  at  first  ap- 
parent, but  presently,  as  the  air  grew  clearer,  they  turned 
into  the  walls  of  villas.  Then  as  the  pair,  beginning 
their  walk,  drew  near  them  the  wood  was  seen  to  over- 
hang a  gulf  of  subjacent  landscape,  in  whose  depths 
houses  innumerable  rose  out  of  mysterious  gardens,  and 
spires  and  crescents  were  glimmering  on  the  steepness  of 
lower  hills;  while  the  promontory  on  its  landward  side 
revealed,  beyond  fields  and  hedgerows,  a  line  of  buildings, 
which  crossed  it  from  sea  to  sea,  and  imprisoned  a  whole 
region  of  country  within  the  cordon  of  a  bewildering 
town. 

Such,  when  viewed  from  the  heights  of  this  primitive 
rural  oasis,  was  Southquay,  of  all  the  watering-places  in 
Britain,  and  perhaps  in  Europe,  the  most  remarkable 
for  the  charm  of  its  situation,  and  at  one  time  for  its 
social  brilliance. 

Sir  Rawlin  and  Miss  Vivian,   having  looked  at  the 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

panorama  long  enough,  abandoned  their  desultory  pace 
and  began  to  step  out  in  earnest. 

"When  I  was  a  boy,"  he  said,  "all  the  world  used  to 
come  here — Russian  princes,  dethroned  French  emperors, 
great  singers,  beautiful  American  heiresses,  and  a  third 
of  fashionable  London.  Every  day,  at  every  corner, 
there  were  chances  of  unimaginable  meetings.  The 
whole  place  to  me,  in  those  days,  seemed  a  world  of 
romance  and  wonder.  I  had  not  seen  it,  till  yesterday, 
for  more  than  twenty  years.  The  link  that  binds  me  to 
it  now  is,  I  fear,  not  romantic." 

"Yes,"  she  asked — "yes?  And  what  sort  of  link  is 
that?" 

"  I  have,"  he  said,  "  so  you  told  me,  been  lucky  enough 
to  inspire  you  with  confidence  in  me.  I  had  better  ex- 
plain to  you  who  it  is  you  confide  in.  Miss  Hazel  rec- 
ognized my  name,  and  I  think  your  aunt  will  find  that 
it  at  least  guarantees  my  respectability;  but  to  you  it 
can  have  meant  nothing.  Well,  down  on  the  Parade, 
where  I  dare  say  you  often  walk,  you  have  perhaps 
noticed  an  exceedingly  inartistic  statue.  It  is  meant  to 
represent  my  father.  My  father  owned,  and  I  now  own 
instead  of  him,  most  of  the  land  on  which  this  town  is 
built.  For  that  reason  I  have  been  invited  to  stand  here 
as  a  parliamentary  candidate.  If  you  introduce  me  to 
your  friends,  they  will  have  no  difficulty  in  identifying  me." 

She  looked  up  at  him  quickly,  and  astonished  him 
more  than  ever  by  taking  one  of  his  bare  hands,  which 
were  firm  and  finely  formed,  in  hers. 

"You  have  certainly  helped  me,"  she  said,  "to  ex- 
plain you  to  my  aunt  Susannah;  but  I  myself — may  I 
tell  you  this? — felt  confidence  in  you  the  moment  I 
heard  your  voice,  and  especially  when  I  saw  your  hands. 
I'm  sure  that  hands  must,  in  some  ways,  tell  one  much 
more  than  faces.  There  are  certain  people  whom  I  like 
— more  than  like — whom  I  would  be  guided  by,  and  who 
are  ever  so  far  above  me;  but  if  I  shake  hands  with  them 
I  shudder  as  if  I  had  touched  a  toad," 

15 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

Sir  Rawlin  was  once  more  startled  out  of  the  reserve 
which  he  had  been  so  judiciously  cultivating. 

"Your  own  hands,"  he  said,  "naturally  make  you 
fastidious.  Is  that  your  name  which  I  see  on  your 
bracelet — Nest?  It's  a  Welsh  name,  isn't  it?  It's  a 
pretty  name,  an  interesting  name — Nest." 

He  articulated  this  last  word  in  a  way  which  left  it 
doubtful  whether  he  was  merely  considering  its  qualities 
or  was  actually  addressing  his  companion  by  it.  In 
either  case  he  gave  no  offence.  Nevertheless,  immedi- 
ately afterward,  Miss  Vivian,  with  a  demure  smile,  light- 
ly disengaged  herself  from  all  visible  contact  with  him, 
and  was  walking  by  his  side  with  a  decorum  of  which 
even  a  Miss  Hazel  would  have  approved. 

The  reason  of  this  movement  on  her  part  was  of  a 
very  obvious  kind.  They  had,  during  the  course  of  their 
conversation,  been  slowly  descending  the  hill  under  cov- 
er of  a  belt  of  trees  which  stretched  downward  from 
the  wood  like  the  thin  tentacle  of  an  octopus;  but  their 
path  ending  in  some  steps,  had  at  this  moment  thrust 
them  into  a  thoroughfare  bordered  with  gas-lamps  and 
enlivened  with  the  desultory  passage  of  pedestrians,  cabs, 
and  carriages.  A  little  way  off  was  a  cab-stand  and  a 
row  of  meek  Bath-chairs,  and  close  to  these  rose  a  large, 
elaborate  church,  from  which  a  scanty  congregation, 
mostly  of  the  female  sex,  was  being  played  into  the  open 
air  by  a  faintly  audible  voluntary. 

"That,"  said  the  girl,  with  a  note  of  gravity  in  her 
voice,  "as  of  course  you  know,  is  All  Saints'." 

Sir  Rawlin  surveyed  the  building.  "  And  so  All 
Saints',"  he  exclaimed,  "has  grown  into  that  cathedral! 
In  my  time  it  was  like  a  corn  exchange  ornamented  with 
stucco  pinnacles.  But  I  ought  to  know  it,  for  there  is 
the  old  vicarage — the  same  old,  sleepy,  opulent-looking 
villa,  with  the  same  shrubberies  hiding  it  in  dignified 
and  assured  seclusion.  And  there  are  the  elms,  too. 
I'm  glad  they  have  spared  the  elms.  And  between  the 
vicarage  and  the  church  there  used  to  be  a  gravelled 

16 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

space,  something  like  a  cathedral  close,  with  some  school 
buildings  at  the  end  of  it  and  a  circle  of  turf  in  the 
middle." 

"  Look  in  there,"  said  the  girl.  "  It's  just  as  you  de- 
scribe it  still,  except  that  the  schools  were  rebuilt,  I 
think,  a  year  ago.  Mr.  Barton  did  most  of  that;  and 
the  church  is  only  just  finishec1.  If  you  admire  the  out- 
side, you'd  admire  the  inside  more.  You  never  heard 
such  an  organ  or  such  an  exquisite  choir.  Come  in  and 
see.  It  won't  take  us  a  moment." 

As  she  spoke  they  were  nearing  the  western  door. 
When  they  reached  it  she  turned  to  enter,  casting  at 
him  over  her  shoulder  a  glance  which  bade  him  follow 
her  and  which  seemed  unused  to  refusals.  He  obeyed, 
and,  walking  behind  her,  he  was  presently  in  the  gloom 
within — a  gloom  which  was  faintly  pungent  with  the 
odor  of  haunting  incense.  The  performance  of  the  or- 
ganist was  over.  No  solitary  loiterer  was  visible  in  the 
hushed  obscurity.  Arch  and  pillar  were  mysterious, 
and  the  windows  were  like  dusty  jewel-work.  Sir  Raw- 
lin  was  impressed  by  the  building  far  more  than  he  ex- 
pected to  be.  In  the  distant  chancel  an  altar,  dark  with 
embroidered  purple,  lifted  its  pale  candles  and  its  com- 
pany of  glimmering  candlesticks.  High  above  it  the 
genius  of  Anglo-Catholicism  had  hung  a  lighted  lamp, 
which  here  could  only  suggest  the  absence  of  the  con- 
secrated host,  just  as  in  Roman  sanctuaries  such  lamps 
denote  its  presence.  The  girl  made  a  deep  genuflection, 
with  the  easy  yet  solemn  grace  of  one  to  whom  the  act 
was  habitual;  and  then,  touching  her  companion,  said 
to  him,  in  a  low  whisper: 

"Go  up  and  see  the  reredos." 

The  touch  on  his  arm  became  a  gentle  push,  which, 
though  he  was  hardly  aware  of  it,  thrilled  him  with  a 
sense  of  intimacy.  He  went  forward  perfunctorily,  not- 
ing on  the  walls  as  he  did  so  what  must  certainly  be  the 
stations  of  the  cross,  and  proceeded,  having  reached  the 
chancel,  to  scrutinize  its  medley  of  embroideries,  brass, 

17 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

and  alabaster.  These  objects,  though  pretentious,  were 
very  far  from  tawdry.  They  seemed  to  communicate 
to  the  air  a  suggestion  of  austere  plaintiveness,  as  though 
a  viewless  Magdalen  were  watching  there,  with  the 
spikenard  of  her  broken  heart  ready  for  the  Divine  Lover. 
Sir  Rawlin  turned  round  to  see  how  Miss  Vivian  was 
demeaning  herself,  but  found  that  she  had  not  followed 
him ;  and  presently,  retracing  his  steps  between  the  pale 
congregated  chairs,  he  came  on  her  kneeling  by  a  pillar 
not  far  from  the  door.  The  daintiness  of  her  white- 
gloved  hands  and  of  the  half-seen  cheek  that  rested  on 
them,  her  red  hockey-cap  worn  with  a  little  capricious 
tilt,  and  the  faultless  folds  with  which  her  coat  accentu- 
ated the  grace  of  her  attitude — all  these  mundane  nice- 
ties, contrasted  and  yet  perversely  in  harmony  with  her 
air  of  absorbed  devotion,  invested  her,  for  the  man  who 
contemplated  her,  with  a  new  ambiguous  charm,  as 
though  she  represented  all  the  passion  which  drives 
women  to  confessionals,  and  the  passion  which  they 
bring  there  to  confess;  and  this  latent  contrast — pre- 
mature in  one  so  young — was  reimpressed  on  him  by 
the  quick  and  unembarrassed  movement  with  which  she 
rose  from  her  knees  as  soon  as  he  was  standing  close  to 
her,  and  by  her  eyes,  which  seemed  with  their  welcome 
to  be  taking  renewed  possession  of  him. 

"  I'm  so  glad  you  saw  it,"  she  said.  "  We'll  go  out 
by  the  other  door.  It  takes  us  into  the  place  which  you 
called  the  cathedral  close.  Our  shortest  way  is  by  a  lit- 
tle path  near  the  school-house." 

As  they  came  forth  into  the  daylight  a  cawing  of  rooks 
saluted  them.  Miss  Vivian  led  the  way  toward  an  ag- 
gregation of  parti-colored  brick  buildings  whose  pointed 
arches  looked  raw  under  the  boughs  of  the  old  elm-trees ; 
and  Sir  Rawlin,  engaged  in  observing  them,  did  not  at 
first  perceive  that  the  opening  of  a  narrow  path,  toward 
which  his  guide  was  conducting  him,  was  beset  by  some 
mature  ladies  grouped,  like  magnetized  articles,  round 
the  person  of  a.  tall  cleric.  This  personage  was  address- 

18 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

ing  them  with  an  air  of  reserved  affability,  when,  hap- 
pening to  turn  his  head  and  catch  sight  of  Miss  Vivian, 
he  began  bidding  his  auditors  an  almost  abrupt  adieu, 
and  with  evident  purpose  in  his  eyes  hastened  toward 
the  new-comer.  Even  had  she  wished  to  do  so  she  could 
not  have  avoided  stopping.  Sir  Rawlin  at  once  moved 
on  a  few  paces,  and  then  turned  round  and  watched 
him,  not  much  pleased  by  the  interruption.  The  cleric, 
whose  age  appeared  to  be  about  five-and-thirty,  was,  as 
his  critic  recognized,  a  man  of  striking  appearance.  His 
general  expression  was  intellectual,  but  his  eyes  were 
those  of  a  mystic,  while  his  mouth  suggested  command 
and  a  possible  acerbity  of  temper.  Acerbity,  however, 
was,  at  all  events  for  the  present,  in  complete  abeyance. 
Standing  close  to  the  girl,  he  spoke  to  her  in  confidential 
and  possessive  undertones,  to  which  her  own  manner  in 
replying  showed  that  she  thought  them  natural.  Sir 
Rawlin  was  conscious  of  something  like  impatient  dis- 
approval, which  was  slightly,  though  but  slightly,  miti- 
gated when  he  saw  that  it  was  the  young  lady  herself 
who  at  length  put  an  end  to  the  conference  with  a  hasty 
extension  of  her  hand  and  a  still  more  hasty  withdrawal 
of  it. 

"Please,"  said  the  cleric,  calling  after  her,  "tell  Lady 
Susannah  that  I  may  be  able  to  put  in  an  appearance 
for  a  minute  or  two,  after  all." 

"Who,"  asked  Sir  Rawlin,  when  Miss  Vivian  was  at 
his  side  once  more,  "was  the  reverend  gentleman,  your 
friend?" 

With  a  quick  movement  the  girl  beat  her  palms  to- 
gether. She  seemed  to  be  brushing  away  some  speck  of 
dirt  from  her  gloves. 

"He's  a  wonderful  man,"  she  said,  gravely.  "Every 
one  admires  and  looks  up  to  him,  but  he's  one  of  those 
people  whom  I  don't  much  care  about  shaking  hands 
with.  That  is  Mr.  Barton.  He  is,  as  a  fact,  only  the 
principal  curate  here,  but  the  vicar  is  an  invalid,  and  Mr. 
Barton  manages  everything.  He  has  money  of  his  own, 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

and  he  has  helped  about  finishing  the  church.  He  gave 
the  reredos,  and  he  lives  on  dry  toast  himself.  When 
he  preaches  the  church  is  crowded,  and  he  has  written 
books  about  Church  music  and  liturgies.  My  aunt 
asked  him  to  give  me  a  few  hints  about  singing.  His 
own  voice  is  beautiful;  it  hardly  sounds  like  a  man's. 
And  those  boys  —  those  cousins  of  mine  —  who  were 
brought  up  by  an  infidel  tutor,  try  to  be  witty  by  laugh- 
ing at  him,  when  they  only  show  how  silly  they  are. 
But  don't  let  us  talk  of  Mr.  Barton;  he's  quite  outside 
ordinary  life.  Shall  I  tell  you  something  more  about 
ourselves?  For  very  soon  you'll  be  in  the  heart  of  our 
family  circle." 

"Do,"  said  Sir  Rawlin,  quite  willing  to  change  the 
subject.  "I'm  particularly  curious  to  hear  about  the 
mysterious  Mr.  Hugo." 

In  Miss  Vivian's  answering  laugh  there  was  the  same 
note  of  amusement  which  his  ears  had  detected  in  it 
when  he  made  his  allusion  to  the  Nut. 

"Mr.  Hugo,"  she  said,  "is  the  youngest;  but  we  call 
him  Mr.  Hugo  because  the  servants  do.  He  reads  Dar- 
win, and  nasty  little  chemical  hand-books,  and  seriously 
pretends  to  think  that  we  once  used  to  be  monkeys. 
Oswald  is  happy  in  thinking  that  he  has  eyes  like  Byron's, 
and  that  his  heart  is  being  always  broken.  But  at  the 
same  time  he's  amusing,  and  he  means  to  die  an  am- 
bassador. Aren't  boys  odd?  Then  you  will  see  Nina, 
who's  a  dear,  when  once  you  get  over  the  fact  that  she 
never  can  keep  her  hair  straight,  and  won't  let  my  maid 
touch  it  for  all  the  world.  She  manages  all  the  house- 
keeping, and  she's  really  very  religious,  though  she  reads 
Darwin  also,  and  sometimes  helps  Mr.  Hugo  to  make 
slides  for  his  microscope  by  squirting  blue  ink  into  bits 
of  raw  liver  and  kidney.  My  beloved  aunt  Susannah 
is  a  light  among  the  old  Southquay  cats.  She's 
goodness  itself,  and  gives  half  her  money  to  the  cler- 
gy. Well,  there's  our  household,  and  as  for  our 
house— which  calls  itself  Cliff's  End  —  look!  It's  at 

20 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

the  bottom  of  this  valley,  all  alone,  behind  those 
woods." 

The  little  path  near  the  church  had  led  them  straight 
into  sloping  meadows  secreted  among  high  hedgerows. 
Primroses  clustered  by  the  gates.  Cattle  were  being 
driven  home;  and  an  ancient,  thatched  farm-house  re- 
vealed itself,  flanked  by  orchards.  Having  followed  a 
thin  brown  track  through  this  world  of  primitive  quiet, 
Sir  Rawlin  and  Miss  Vivian  were  now  descending  toward 
a  road  which  wound  between  the  opposing  hill-sides,  and 
finally  brought  them  to  a  lodge  with  pointed  windows, 
having  for  its  background  a  steep  jungle  of  evergreens. 
They  turned  in  at  the  gate,  and  found  themselves  on  a 
long  approach,  which  mounted  the  slope  obliquely  be- 
tween hedges  of  clipped  laurel,  and  ended  in  a  wheel- 
marked  space,  with  the  porch  of  the  house  fronting  them. 

Two  closed  flies  were  just  moving  away.  "Look!" 
exclaimed  Miss  Vivian.  "When  I  asked  you  to  come  in, 
I'd  quite  forgotten  that  Aunt  Susannah  has  some  of 
those  cats  at  tea  to-day.  Have  you  the  courage  to  face 
them?  But  no — I'll  tell  you  what.  We'll  go  to  the 
school -room  first,  by  the  side  door  from  the  garden ;  and 
I'll  take  you  in  to  my  aunt  as  soon  as  the  ground  is 
clear." 

Passing  through  an  aperture  in  a  bank  of  shrubs  and 
rock-work,  they  came  out  on  a  garden  which  seemed 
literally  to  overhang  the  sea,  the  house  revealing  itself 
as  an  old-fashioned  stuccoed  villa,  with  gables  and  clus- 
tering chimneys,  and  a  large  protruding  wing,  the  whole 
being  sheltered  at  the  back  by  a  grove  of  enormous  ilex- 
trees.  It  was  to  a  door  in  this  wing  that  Miss  Vivian  led 
her  friend,  keeping  as  far  as  possible  out  of  sight  of  the 
main  windows. 


CHAPTER   III 

THE  two,  on  entering,  found  themselves  in  a  small, 
dim  lobby,  into  which,  through  the  thin  crevice 
left  by  a  door  ajar,  a  sound  of  voices  penetrated  from 
some  room  within.  The  girl  took  her  friend's  arm  in  a 
manner  which  invited  him  to  listen.  The  voices  were 
two  in  number,  and  the  words  uttered  by  each  were  cal- 
culated to  arrest  attention. 

"Peter,"  said  the  first  voice — "oh,  my  love,  thou  art 
fair!  Thou  hast  dove's  eyes  within  thy  locks.  Sit  there 
on  your  altar  and  accept  of  our  evening  sacrifice." 

"James,"  said  the  second  voice  —  "darling  James, 
come  here !  Why  does  my  Jemmie  go  about  pretending 
to  be  a  dog  when  he  knows  quite  well  that  he  really  is  a 
beautiful  brown  lizard?" 

"Wait!"  Miss  Vivian  whispered.  "I'll  go  in  and  an- 
nounce you." 

He  heard  her  entrance  greeted  by  exclamations  of 
"Nest!"  which  were  followed  first  by  a  murmur  and 
then  by  a  short  silence.  Then  the  door  reopened,  and 
Miss  Vivian's  voice  said:  "Come!" 

The  next  moment  he  was  in  a  room,  large,  low,  en- 
cumbered with  untidy  tables,  and  surrounded  with  cup- 
boards and  bookcases,  which  had  just  begun  to  flicker 
in  the  firelight.  From  a  chair  by  one  of  the  tables,  which 
was  laden  with  a  substantial  tea,  a  lady  with  a  smiling 
and  rather  eager  face  had  risen,  and  was  freeing  herself 
from  the  embraces  of  a  brown,  oblong  dachshund.  Two 
boys,  or  youths,  were  in  the  act  of  rising  also ;  while  en- 
throned and  purring  loudly  on  a  large  box  against  the 
wall  a  magnificent  Angora  cat,  with  a  dish  of  scraps  bc- 

22 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

fore  it,  was  wiping  a  whiskered  cheek  with  a  large,  but- 
tery paw. 

Miss  Vivian  introduced  her  friend  without  any  at- 
tempt at  ceremony.  "Here  is  Nina,"  she  said;  "here 
is  Oswald;  and  that  over  there  is  Mr.  Hugo." 

The  three  exhibited  a  sense  of  having  somehow  been 
taken  at  unawares.  Mr.  Hugo  in  particular  assumed  a 
gloomy  sedateness.  He  looked  older  than  his  years,  and 
he  had  dark,  solemn  eyes;  but  his  face,  when  he  smiled, 
became  almost  like  a  baby's.  His  brother,  who  had  an 
air  of  the  world  about  him,  and  who  was,  moreover,  very 
well  dressed,  justified  Miss  Vivian's  description  of  him 
by  an  expression  which  was  intended  to  be  melancholy, 
but  which  struggled  at  the  corners  of  his  mouth  with  the 
forces  of  lurking  mischief.  For  him  the  recovery  of  his 
self-possession  was  the  work  of  a  moment  only;  and 
there  was  something  in  Sir  Rawlin's  manner  which  so 
immediately  accommodated  itself  to  the  situation  that 
the  others  were  soon  in  the  way  of  being  equally  at  their 
ease  also.  This  happy  result  was  completed,  while  Miss 
Arundel  was  providing  him  with  some  tea,  by  an  ob- 
servation on  his  part,  the  effects  of  which  were  perfectly 
magical. 

"Your  cat,"  he  said,  "sits  there  as  if  he  were  an 
Egyptian  deity." 

"  He  is  a  deity,"  said  Oswald,  reading  sympathy  in  the 
guest's  face.  "  We  prefer  him  to  the  bull  of  Mithra — at 
least,  for  purposes  of  home  worship.  That  box  is  his 
altar.  Those  little  scraps  of  tea-cake  are  the  remains 
of  his  burnt-offerings.  We've  been  reciting  his  evening 
office,  which  is  taken  from  the  Song  of  Solomon." 

Miss  Nina  went  over  to  the  altar  and  began  stroking 
the  cat's  fur.  "He  must,"  she  said,  "have  been  sacri- 
ficing a  mouse  to  his  own  self  in  the  garden,  for  he's 
left  half  his  tea-cake,  yet  his  beautiful  sides  are  bulging. 
Oh,  Mr.  Hugo,  how  dreadful!  Do  come  here  and  look! 
He's  been  gnawing  the  kidney  which  we  injected  with 
green  ink  for  your  microscope." 

23 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

Ignoring  the  scuffle  which  ensued,  Oswald  glanced  at 
Miss  Vivian  with  a  cautiously  dawning  smile. 

"The  real  reason,"  he  said,  gravely,  "why  he  partly 
rejects  our  offerings  is  that  he  has  been  catching  mice  in 
Mr.  Barton's  church,  and  has  there  learned  to  demand 
from  us  a  more  advanced  ritual.  He  wants  us  to  intone, 
and  he  would  like  processions,  and  a  banner  or  two.  I 
have,"  he  went  on,  "  been  making  a  sketch  of  the  sort  of 
thing  he  wants  " ;  and  he  handed  a  sheet  of  paper  to  Sir 
Rawlin,  which  had  been  lying  half  concealed  among  the 
tea-things.  On  it  was  a  robed  priest,  strutting  with  up- 
turned eyes,  and  bearing  a  banner  whose  device  was  a 
yawning  cat.  The  cleverness  of  the  drawing  was  ex- 
traordinary. Sir  Rawlin  at  once  recognized  the  features 
of  Mr.  Barton. 

Miss  Vivian  approached  and  looked  over  Sir  Rawlin 's 
shoulder.  "Oswald,"  she  exclaimed,  making  a  snatch 
at  the  picture,  "  if  you're  silly  and  irreverent,  I'll  never 
be  in  love  with  you  again !  Sir  Rawlin,  don't  encourage 
him." 

At  this  moment  an  odd  little  pink-cheeked  butler, 
with  the  intimate  smile  of  long  family  service,  appeared 
at  the  door,  inquiring  if  they  wished  for  lights. 

"Berry,"  said  Miss  Vivian,  "who's  left  in  the  draw- 
ing-room? Go,  like  a  dear.  Just  peep  in  and  tell  me." 

"For  the  time  being,  miss,"  he  replied,  "there's  no 
one.  A  good  few  have  come  and  gone,  but  her  ladyship 
is  expecting  more." 

"Then  in  that  case,"  said  Miss  Vivian  to  her  friend, 
"  I'll  avail  myself  of  the  lucid  interval,  and  prepare  Aunt 
Susannah  for  your  advent." 

She  had  hardly  left  the  room  when  a  new  sensation 
was  created  by  a  sound  between  a  cough  and  a  hiss 
which  came  from  under  a  sofa. 

"Oh,"  cried  Miss  Arundel,  "it's  Peter!  I'm  sure  he's 
going  to  be  sick.  I  hope  he  will  be,  the  darling.  I  must 
carry  him  from  the  room  at  once." 

Mr.  Hugo  assured  her  that  "the  chromosomes  were 

24 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

not  toxic."  The  cat,  however,  was  hastily  caught,  and 
deported  in  Miss  Arundel's  arms;  accordingly,  Sir  Raw- 
lin  found  himself  alone  with  the  two  boys.  Mr.  Hugo 
by  this  time  had  retreated  to  a  table  in  the  window,  and 
was  contemplating  in  ostentatious  seclusion  a  microscope 
and  several  saucers,  on  which  were  lying  lumps  of  raw 
animal  matter.  His  demeanor  being  obviously  a  mute 
plea  for  attention,  Sir  Rawlin  approached  the  table, 
whereupon  Mr.  Hugo  informed  him  that  the  microscope 
was  of  unusual  power,  and  would  reveal  at  that  moment, 
if  only  the  light  permitted,  a  wonderful  section  of  the 
heart  of  a  diseased  jackdaw.  Then,  casually  pointing  to 
a  number  of  stoppered  bottles — 

"Those,"  he  said,  "contain  sterilized  gelatine.  As 
soon  as  I  can  get  a  little  radium  I  am  going  to  produce 
life." 

"And  you,"  said  Sir  Rawlin  to  Oswald,  "create  life 
in  another  way.  That  sketch  was  uncommonly  clever. 
I  have  just  seen  the  gentleman  depicted.  Have  you 
anything  else  you  could  show  me?" 

The  boy,  with  hesitating  pleasure,  brought  forth  a 
large  portfolio.  Its  contents  were  mostly  caricatures, 
but  among  these  were  some  water-colors  which  caught 
Sir  Rawlin's  eye — fanciful  sketches  of  scenes  evidently 
meant  to  be  Oriental,  and  peopled  with  lovers  whose 
birthplace  was  the  pages  of  Moore  or  Byron. 

"You've  a  fine  imagination,"  said  Sir  Rawlin.  "Have 
you  ever  been  in  the  East?" 

"No,"  said  Oswald.     "Have  you?" 

"Yes,"  said  Sir  Rawlin,  smiling.  "I  have  been  there 
for  many  years." 

The  boy,  who  had  been  seated,  pushed  back  his  chair 
and  rose.  "I  beg  you  to  forgive  me,"  he  said,  with  a 
polished  and  yet  ingenuous  courtesy,  "but  just  now  my 
cousin's  account  of  your  kindness  to  her  hardly  left  me 
time  to  realize  who  you  were.  I  was  reading  only  yes- 
terday about  your  connection  with  the  Persian  Treaty, 
and  your  book  of  travels  is  up -stairs  by  my  bed  now." 

25 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

He  blushed  and  checked  himself,  as  though  fearing 
he  had  said  too  much. 

"My  book,"  said  Sir  Rawlin,  laying  a  kindly  hand  on 
his  shoulder,  "would,  if  it  could  only  speak,  try  to  tell 
you  how  it  alued  your  compliment." 

The  return  of  Miss  Vivian  prevented  his  adding  more. 
"Aunt  Susannah,  being  Scotch,"  she  began,  "has  nine 
hundred  and  ninety-nine  cousins.  She's  persuaded  that 
you  are  the  thousandth,  and  is  quite  eager  to  tell  you 
so.  But  wheels  were  crunching  up  the  drive  as  I  slipped 
back  through  the  hall,  and  it  will  shorten  your  sufferings 
if  you  wait  here  a  little  longer.  Then  I'll  commit  you 
to  Berry,  for  I  daren't  venture  again  into  the  lion's  den 
myself." 

The  girl's  eyes  were  sparkling.  The  air  of  the  room 
when  she  entered  seemed  to  quicken  with  a  new  vitality, 
and  Mr.  Hugo  stole  back  to  the  tea-table,  nibbled  a 
sponge-cake,  and  smiled  at  her. 

"Oswald,"  she  exclaimed,  catching  sight  of  the  port- 
folio, "when  you're  not  silly  you're  clever.  Do  some 
pictures  for  Sir  Rawlin  of  the  people  he'll  meet  in  the 
drawing-room . ' ' 

Sir  Rawlin  seconded  the  request,  and  the  artist  hast- 
ened to  comply,  the  others,  in  amused  expectation,  watch- 
ing the  movements  of  his  pencil. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "we'll  begin  with  Miss  Mittens,  the 
authoress  of  Withered  Bents.  Her  head  is  always  down 
like  that,  and  her  eyes  are  always  up,  and  her  hands  are 
always  crossed  on  her  buckle,  when  they're  not  holding 
a  teacup.  And  here  is  Miss  Greendale,  the  authoress  of 
Love  in  a  Basque  Village.  Her  eyes  roll  with  a  gentle 
ogle,  and  she  gesticulates  with  her  hands  sweetly,  in- 
stead of  folding  them.  I  don't  know  for  certain  that 
either  of  them  will  be  there  to-day,  but  I  can  promise  Sir 
Rawlin  this  one,  if  she  hasn't  come  and  gone  already. 
This  is  Mrs.  Morriston  Campbell — only  I'm  not  making 
her  nearly  fat  and  vulgar  enough." 

"Don't,"  said  Mr.  Hugo,  "forget  to  put  in  her  wart." 

26 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

"She  once,"  Oswald  continued,  "knew  a  royal  prin- 
cess at  Bordighera,  who  graciously  made  use  of  her 
carriage  every  other  day  for  a  month,  and  she  has  never 
thought  or  talked  about  anything  else  since.  She  sits 
swelling  in  a  chair  like  that,  as  if  she  were  a  kind  of 
Sinai  and  every  beast  of  a  common  person  who  ap- 
proached her  deserved  to  die.  She's  simply  apoplectic 
with  pomposity.  Here's  old  Mrs.  Summerfield.  She's 
really  a  lady.  Sir  Rawlin  will  know  her  at  once  by  her 
wig  and  her  poke-bonnet.  These" — and  the  artist  here 
drew  a  number  of  blank  ovals — "must  be  held  to  repre- 
sent the  widows  of  old  Southquay  incumbents.  What 
shall  I  do  now?  Oh  yes.  Nest,  watch  this."  Under 
his  pencil,  as  he  spoke,  a  figure  began  to  grow,  drawn 
from  the  feet  upward,  and  revealing  gradually  a  long, 
clerical  coat;  but  it  ended  at  the  collar,  headless.  "  I  am 
not  worthy,"  he  murmured,  "to  depict  the  all-sacred 
countenance." 

"Oswald,"  exclaimed  Miss  Vivian,  "you're  an  idiot!" 
Before  Sir  Rawlin  could  realize  what  had  become  of  her, 
she  had  reached  a  corner  of  the  room  in  which  stood  an 
object  not  previously  noticed  by  him.  It  was  a  gramo- 
phone, which  began  forthwith  to  emit  a  well-known  air 
from  "Carmen."  "Oswald,"  she  said,  "listen,"  and  she 
sang  a  few  words  with  the  instrument.  "Si  je  t'aime, 
prends  garde  a  toi." 

Oswald  refused  to  look.  "Do,"  he  said,  "stop  that 
horrible  grating  thing." 

The  girl  did  so.  "Sir  Rawlin,"  she  said,  "you  had 
better  come  along  with  me.  I  won't,  as  I  told  you,  go 
back  into  the  drawing-room  myself,  but  we'll  get  hold 
of  Berry,  and  he  shall  be  lord  chamberlain." 

The  two  disappeared  accordingly.  "My  dear  Nest," 
said  Oswald,  when  she  re-entered,  "you're  no  doubt 
very  much  a  young  lady  of  the  world,  but  you  ought, 
when  you  go  to  pick  up  your  German  at  Miss  Aldritch's, 
to  take  lessons  in  the  art  of  introducing  people.  I  never 
gathered  from  what  you  said — perhaps  you  didn't  know 
3  27 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

yourself — that  your  gallant  knight-errant,  who  delivered 
you  from  the  jaws  of  the  thunder,  is  our  greatest  Asiatic 
diplomatist.  That's  what  they  call  him  in  the  Times.'1 

Sir  Rawlin,  meanwhile,  had  been  ushered  into  a  long, 
faded  drawing-room,  where  his  hostess,  who  met  him  at 
the  door,  had  been  evidently  looking  out  for  his  arrival. 
She  had  trustful  eyes  alight  in  a  bony  face  of  fifty,  and 
her  speech,  slightly  plaintive  in  its  intonations,  suggested 
the  habitual  attitude  of  a  Christian  and  well-born  lady 
toward  a  world  where  all  husbands  die,  and  not  all  die 
as  wealthy  as  they  deserve  to  do. 

"Sir  Rawlin,"  she  said,  "this  is  really  pleasant.  I 
knew  most  of  your  mother's  family.  I  shouldn't  won- 
der if  we  were  related.  Thank  you,  a  thousand  times, 
for  your  kindness  to  my  poor  little  pretty  niece.  If  you 
could  stay  till  these  people  are  gone,  I  should  like  to  ask, 
and  also  to  tell  you,  one  or  two  things  about  her.  I  know 
you've  had  school-room  tea,  but  will  you  look  on  at 
ours?" 

Still  talking,  they  slowly  approached  a  group,  con- 
sisting of  some  dozen  persons,  at  the  farther  end  of  the 
room.  Sir  Rawlin  could  hardly  help  laughing,  it  so 
closely  resembled  that  which  Oswald's  sketch  had  repre- 
sented. Mrs.  Summerfield  and  Mrs.  Morriston  Camp- 
bell he  recognized  at  the  first  glance,  and  then  the  back 
of  Mr.  Barton  inclining  itself  toward  some  bonneted  lis- 
teners. His  hostess  having  looked  about  to  discover  an 
appropriate  seat  for  him,  he  was  presently  conscious  that 
his  own  name  was  being  murmured  in  connection  with 
that  of  Mrs.  Morriston  Campbell.  Mrs.  Morriston  Camp- 
bell, however,  altogether  failed  to  catch  it,  and,  having 
acknowledged  his  bow  in  consequence  with  a  freezing 
royal  stare,  was  putting  him  in  his  place  with  a  few 
languid  syllables,  when  old  Mrs.  Summerfield  saved  her 
from  further  trouble. 

"Did  I  hear  some  one  say,"  she  asked,  "that  this  is 
Sir  Rawlin  Stantor?  Sir  Rawlin,  I'm  too  blind  to  see 
you,  but  I  knew  your  dear  father  well,  and  I'm  afraid  I 

28 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

must  add  your  grandfather.  Yes,  and  Lady  Emily, 
too.  Lady  Emily  was  my  oldest  friend.  We  went  to- 
gether to  our  first  drawing-room.  I  do  hope  you're 
going  to  stand  for  us,  and  keep  out  those  shocking  Radi- 
cals— shocking — quite  shocking — who  want  to  ruin  the 
country." 

Mrs.  Morriston  Campbell  listened,  her  mouth  and 
eyes  wide  open,  and  with  a  sudden  readjustment  of  her 
features  was  getting  herself  into  position  to  recapture 
the  angel  whom  she  had  sent  away  unawares,  when  Lady 
Susannah  rendered  the  attempt  fruitless  by  saying  to 
Sir  Rawlin:  "  I  don't  want  to  interrupt  you,  but  there's 
somebody  here  who  has  to  go  in  a  minute,  and  who  has 
a  particular  reason  for  wanting  to  make  your  acquaint- 
ance." 

The  person  referred  to  proved  to  be  none  other  than 
Mr.  Barton.  Sir  Rawlin,  whose  prepossessions  were  not 
very  favorable  to  the  priest,  and  who  fancied  that  he  had 
detected  in  him  certain  drawing-room  affectations  as  a 
tea-drinker,  was  now  impressed  by  him  in  a  way  which 
he  had  not  at  all  anticipated.  Mr.  Barton's  eyes  were 
still  the  eyes  of  a  mystic,  and  the  smile  which  he  bestow- 
ed on  his  hostess  was  a  little  oversweet  and  finikin,  but 
his  manner,  when  he  addressed  Sir  Rawlin,  was  courte- 
ous, alert,  and  dignified,  and  the  mystical  eyes  acquired 
an  expression  of  dry  judgment. 

"I  am  glad,"  he  said,  "Sir  Rawlin,  to  have  this  op- 
portunity of  meeting  you.  If,  as  I  presume,  it  is  your 
object,  before  committing  yourself,  to  see  what  the  state 
of  affairs  in  this  constituency  really  is,  I  could  give  you 
some  useful  information  which  you  won't  get  from  the 
party  agents.  The  fact  is  that  at  Southquay — as  you, 
after  your  long  absence,  have  had  probably  no  means  of 
realizing — the  strictly  Church  vote  is  a  very  important 
factor;  and  I  think  I  should  be  in  a  position  to  tell  you 
very  much  better  than  the  agents  can  what  the  numeri- 
cal value  of  the  Church  vote  is,  and  also  the  precious 
grounds  on  which  it  would  be  withheld  or  given.  If  I 

29 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

might  call  on  you,  or  if  you  cared  to  call  on  me,  I  could 
show  you  in  half  an  hour  or  so  very  much  how  the  land 
lies." 

"  That,"  said  Sir  Rawlin,  "  is  just  what  I  want  to  get 
at.  The  party  agent  is  coming  to  see  me  after  break- 
fast to-morrow  morning,  and  if  I  should  find  you  at 
home  between  twelve  and  one  I  would  come  on  straight 
to  you,  with  a  view  to  completing  my  education." 

Mr.  Barton  declared  himself  delighted  with  this  ar- 
rangement. He  explained  where  his  house  was  situ- 
ated, and  having  hastily  surveyed  the  room,  as  if  look- 
ing in  vain  for  somebody,  declared  that,  being  a  busy 
man,  he  was  unable  to  remain  longer. 

Mr.  Barton's  departure  was  a  signal  for  other  leave- 
takings.  Mrs.  Morriston  Campbell,  indeed,  showed  a 
tendency  to  outstay  the  rest,  in  the  hope  of  inducing  Sir 
Rawlin  to  do  her  the  honor  of  dining  with  her;  but, 
finding  him  not  responsive,  fired  a  parting  shot  at  him 
by  saying  to  Lady  Susannah,  in  making  her  last  adieus: 

"The  dear  princess,  from  whom  I  had  a  long  and  such 
a  sweet  letter  this  morning,  particularly  asked  to  be 
remembered  to  you.  Is  not  she  wonderful  ?  She  never 
forgets  friends." 

"And  now,"  said  Lady  Susannah,  when  she  and  Sir 
Rawlin  were  left  alone  together,  "sit  down  there  and  be 
comfortable.  I  want  you  to  tell  me  what  it  was  that 
really  happened.  The  thunder  seemed  to  me  nothing. 
What  did  my  niece  do?  Did  she  look  as  if  she  were 
going  to  faint,  or  did  she  seem  hysterical  ?  Or  what  ?" 

"No,  no,"  said  Sir  Rawlin.  "There  was  thunder  in 
the  air,  no  doubt,  while  she  was  still  playing  hockey,  but 
she  never  felt  it  at  all  till  the  excitement  of  the  game  was 
over.  When  the  actual  thunder  came — well,  if  I  hadn't 
been  there,  and  able  to  reassure  her,  she  might  have 
fainted.  That's  possible.  For  ten  minutes  or  so  her 
nerves  were  more  or  less  unstrung.  But  she  quickly 
recovered  herself — much  more  quickly  than  my  sister 
would  have  done,  who,  whenever  it  thunders,  goes  and 

30 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

hides  in  the  coal-cellar.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  showed 
singular  self-control,  and  I  should  judge  from  her  be- 
havior that  by  this  time  she  can  hardly  recall  what  was 
the  matter  with  her." 

"You  relieve  me,"  said  Lady  Susannah,  "immensely. 
To  tell  you  the  truth,  this  young  lady  is  the  cause  of  very 
great  anxiety.  In  most  respects  she  seems  perfectly 
well,  but  her  nerves  were  upset  somehow  by  a  serious 
attack  of  influenza,  and  ever  since  then  any  over-excite- 
ment has  been  apt  to  produce  a  breakdown  of  one  kind 
or  another.  On  one  occasion  she  was  unconscious  for  an 
hour.  A  thunder-storm  was  the  cause  in  that  case,  so 
you  see  why  I'm  so  much  relieved  by  what  you  tell  me 
about  this  afternoon.  I  hope  it  shows  that  she  really  is 
getting  stronger.  But  there's  one  thing  which  I've  often 
thought  myself — and  the  doctors  say  so  too,  and  what 
you  said  about  the  hockey  reminds  me  of  it — that  what 
she  wants  most  of  all  is  to  have  her  mind  steadily  in- 
terested. This  hockey  is  good  in  its  way;  and  then  she's 
been  studying  German.  But  still  I'm  afraid  that  there 
is  not  very  much  to  interest  her.  She's  oddly  old  for  her 
years,  and  she  looks  on  the  boys  as  children;  and  I  can't 
help  fancying  at  times  that  she  feels  very  much  alone. 
Nina  and  I — poor  child ! — are  not  exactly  companions  for 
her.  Of  course  there  is  Mr.  Barton,  who  has  given  her 
some  advice  about  her  singing;  but  naturally  he  is  dif- 
ferent. And  there  again  there's  a  difficulty  of  just  the 
opposite  kind.  There  can,  I  think,  be  no  objection  to 
my  telling  you  about  it." 

Sir  Rawlin,  with  a  quickened  interest,  begged  Lady 
Susannah  to  proceed. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "the  case  is  this.  My  niece,  though 
you  mightn't  think  it,  has  strong  religious  feelings,  but 
she  was  brought  up  abroad,  under  not  very  fortunate 
circumstances,  and  it  appears  that  she  has  never  been 
confirmed.  There  is  to  be  a  confirmation  here  at  Whit- 
suntide, and  at  her  own  earnest  wish  Mr.  Barton  has 
begun  to  prepare  her  for  it.  That  in  itself  is  just  as  one 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

would  pray  it  might  be;  but  I  can't  help  fearing  that  her 
over-emotional  nature  may  get  troubled  about  the  matter 
in  a  way  that  her  body  cannot  yet  stand." 

"What,"  asked  Sir  Rawlin,  "suggests  to  you  this 
particular  danger?" 

"Oh,"  said  Lady  Susannah,  "little  trifles  which  one 
can't  help  observing  sometimes.  For  instance,  she's 
fond  of  sketching;  and  she  sits  sometimes  under  some 
fir-trees  just  outside  the  garden  making  studies  of  the 
rocks  and  waves.  Well,  I've  found  her  there  once  or 
twice,  and  she  seemed  to  be  in  a  kind  of  dream.  I've 
one  of  the  sketches  here.  I  keep  it  locked  up  in  a  drawer. 
You'll  see  why,  when  I  show  it  to  you.  There's  nothing 
in  the  sketch  itself,  but  just  look  at  the  back." 

On  the  back  of  the  drawing  which  Lady  Susannah 
committed  to  him  were  a  few  faintly  pencilled  lines  of 
what  seemed  to  be  an  attempted  poem.  With  some 
difficulty  he  deciphered  the  following  words : 

"Olives  gleaming 
And  the  lamp  of  Mary  beaming 

Where  the  lone  shrine  fronts  the  sea. 
Hesper,  star  of  waves  and  twilights, 
What  is  this  that  I  remember, 

Lost  'twixt  Mary's  lamp  and  thee?" 

"Doesn't  that,"  said  Lady  Susannah,  as  Sir  Rawlin 
returned  the  paper,  "strike  you  as  rather  morbid?  If 
she  were  quite  well  otherwise,  one  wouldn't  think  any- 
thing about  it." 

"She  must,"  said  Sir  Rawlin,  after  a  pause,  and  with- 
out disputing  this  criticism,  "be  a  very  interesting  girl. 
But  surely  in  a  place  like  Southquay,  where,  though  it's 
not  what  it  once  was,  all  sorts  of  people  are  constantly 
coming  and  going,  it  would  be  possible  for  her  sometimes 
to  see  a  little  society  that  would  interest  her  and  keep 
her  from  indulging  in  feelings — well,  '  morbid '  is  perhaps 
the  right  name  for  them." 

"I  believe,"  said  Lady  Susannah,  "that  you're  a  very 

32 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

sensible  person.  But  I  myself  go  nowhere  now.  I  know 
none  of  these  charming  people,  and  my  own  acquaint- 
ances, as  you  may  have  seen,  are  hardly  very  interesting 
to  a  girl.  Still,  I  might  try.  I  might  get  up  a  little 
luncheon-party.  My  cousin  George  Carlton,  who  knows 
everybody,  is  coming  to  me  in  a  few  days.  Anyhow,  Sir 
Rawlin,  you  must  let  me  tell  you  this.  I  can  see  that 
this  meeting  with  yourself  has  been  a  real  stimulus  and 
pleasure  to  her.  You,  at  all  events,  if  you're  not  too 
busy,  will,  I  hope,  come  and  see  us  again." 

Sir  Rawlin  replied  that  in  a  day  or  two  he  would  do 
so  with  the  utmost  pleasure,  and  he  and  Lady  Susannah 
parted  on  the  best  of  terms.  His  immediate  experi- 
ences of  Cliff's  End,  however,  were  not  quite  completed 
yet.  He  realized,  when  he  was  in  the  hall,  that  he  had 
left  his  hat  and  stick  in  the  school-room;  but  just  as  the 
butler  was  preparing  to  go  and  fetch  them  a  rustle  of 
skirts  was  heard  to  proceed  from  somewhere,  and  Miss 
Vivian  appeared  with  the  missing  articles  in  her  hand. 

"All  right,  Berry,"  she  said,  "I'll  let  Sir  Rawlin  out. 
I  was  waiting  to  give  you  these.  Look!  Do  you  see 
how  dark  it  is?  I  will  show  you  your  way  down  the 
drive.  You  didn't  want  to  go,  did  you,  without  saying 
good-bye  to  me?  No!"  she  exclaimed,  taking  his  arm 
as  they  emerged  into  the  mild  obscurity,  "  you  mustn't 
go  that  way,  or  you'll  fall  over  a  thousand  flower-pots. 
It's  lucky  I  was  here  to  warn  you.  And  now  we're 
alone,  tell  me — how  did  you  get  on  with  Aunt  Susan- 
nah?" His  answer  appeared  to  satisfy  her.  "And 
Nina  and  Oswald  and  Mr.  Hugo,"  she  continued — 
"what  did  you  think  of  them?  They're  dears,  now  the 
boys  are  no  longer  in  love  with  me.  For  the  first  three 
weeks  I  was  here,  if  ever  I  whispered  with  Oswald,  Mr. 
Hugo  looked  as  if  he  would  have  liked  to  throw  his  mi- 
croscope at  him,  so  I  soon  had  to  stop  all  that.  I  must 
show  you  one  day  the  poem  Mr.  Hugo  wrote  to  me,  in 
which  he  compared  my  eyes  to  lenses.  But  tell  me 
this:  When  I  took  you  into  the  school -room,  did  you 

33 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

think  that  I'd  brought  you  into  a  regular  home  for  lu- 
natics?" 

"My  dear,"  said  Sir  Rawlin,  "I  thought  them  all  de- 
lightful. I  should  like,  if  I  could,  to  help  on  Oswald  in 
his  profession.  But  here  we  are  at  the  gates.  Thank 
you  for  your  escort,  and  good-bye." 

She  took  hold  of  the  lapels  of  his  coat.  He  could  feel, 
though  he  could  hardly  see,  her  eyes  through  the  dark- 
ness looking  at  him.  He  knew  that,  like  her  eyes,  her 
lips  also  were  lifted.  He  took  her  by  both  her  hands, 
but  otherwise  he  kept  his  distance. 

"Must  you  go?"  she  said.  "Well,  I  suppose  you 
must.  I  hope  you'll  come  and  see  me  again.  Will  you 
do  that,  or  won't  you?" 

His  voice,  he  found  to  his  surprise,  was  less  under  his 
control  than  his  body  was. 

"Nest,"  he  said,  "yes,  of  course  I  will.  I've  settled 
it  all  with  your  aunt.  I  hope  to  see  you  again  very  soon 
indeed.  You  talk  of  hope.  Your  life  is  all  before  you. 
You  have  made  me  forget  that  mine  is  a  Pandora's  box 
which  has  not  even  hope  left  in  it." 

"Don't  you  hope,"  she  retorted — and  he  divined  that 
she  was  half  smiling — "don't  you  hope  to  become  a 
member  of  Parliament?" 

"  I  have  one  thing  left  in  the  box,"  he  said,  "but  it  is 
not  hope.  It's  work — to  work  while  it  is  called  to-day 
— to  take  the  next  step,  or  to  refrain  from  taking  it.  I 
am  refraining  from  something  now." 

He  walked  away  hardly  conscious  of  the  manner  in 
which  he  had  just  addressed  her,  but  touched  with  the 
sort  of  embarrassment  which  a  man  is  apt  to  experience 
who,  having  patted  a  lost  dog,  is  followed  by  it  to  his 
own  door. 


CHAPTER   IV 

THOUGH  Sir  Rawlin  Stantor  was  the  owner  of  most 
of  the  soil  of  South  quay,  his  father  and  his  grand- 
father had  so  burdened  the  estate  by  their  extravagance 
that  the  income  which  he  personally  drew  from  it  had 
been  little  more  than  sufficient  for  his  ease  as  a  bachelor, 
in  his  original  profession  of  diplomacy.  His  affairs,  in- 
deed, by  this  time  showed  some  signs  of  improvement; 
otherwise  he  could  not  have  contemplated  the  expense 
of  a  parliamentary  contest.  But  the  old  home  of  his 
family  in  the  neighborhood  of  Southquay  was  let,  and 
his  present  quarters  were  in  a  well-knowa^private  hotel, 
occupying  the  centre  of  an  imposing  ancr  secluded  cres- 
cent, which  looked  across  its  private  gardens  on  a  minia- 
ture bay  below. 

His  sitting-room  with  its  high  walls,  whose  expanses 
of  watered  paper  were  ornamented  with  huge  engrav- 
ings of  the  coronation  of  Queen  Victoria,  derived  next 
morning,  when  he  entered  it,  an  aspect  of  habitation 
and  brightness  from  the  warm  spring  sunshine,  from 
several  bowls  of  flowers,  and  a  bachelor  breakfast  which 
was  glimmering  near  the  fire.  He  himself,  however,  pre- 
sented to  this  agreeable  scene  a  face  overclouded  with 
indications  of  some  pensive  annoyance. 

Early  in  life  he  had  been  involved  by  a  worthless 
woman  in  an  entanglement  which  had  injured  for  the 
time  both  his  reputation  and  prospects.  His  own  con- 
duct and  character  had  been  subsequently  more  than 
vindicated;  and  he  had  every  excuse  for  supposing, 
with  the  rash  wisdom  of  twenty-five,  that  he  knew  wom- 
en far  too  well  to  be  ever  again  moved  by  them.  When 

35 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

he  was  beginning  his  career  at  Paris  as  a  good-looking 
boyish  attach^,  the  black-eyed  wife  of  the  minister  of 
some  South- American  republic,  being  anxious  to  extort 
a  divorce  from  her  legal  lord  and  master,  pitched  on  him 
as  an  instrument  suitable  for  involving  her  in  the  req- 
uisite indiscretion.  She  contrived  to  make  him  com- 
promise her  at  some  hotel,  though,  so  far  as  he  was  con- 
cerned, in  a  purely  platonic  fashion,  by  inducing  him  to 
listen  in  her  bedroom  to  a  tale  of  her  wrongs  and  sor- 
rows. A  duel  with  the  husband  followed,  in  which  Sir 
Rawlin,  though  a  precocious  pistol-shot,  acted  so  strange- 
ly that  his  friends  even  were  doubtful  of  his  courage. 
Their  doubts  were  intensified  when,  as  a  final  prepara- 
tion for  the  encounter,  he  took  from  his  pocket  a  brandy- 
flask,  set  it  at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  and  said:  "When  the 
shooting's  over,  whether  I'm  hit  or  no,  go  for  that  flask 
and  bring  it  to  me."  The  shots  were  duly  fired.  He 
was  himself  grazed  in  the  shoulder,  and  his  own  ball  was 
in  the  middle  of  the  silver  brandy-flask.  "I  despise  a 
coward,"  he  said;  "that's  why  I'm  fool  enough  to  be 
here.  My  flask  will  show  you  that  I  despise  duelling 
more."  The  real  facts  of  the  case  were  not  known  for 
a  year.  Meanwhile  the  boy  had  to  give  up  his  pro- 
fession, and  was  taken  as  a  private  friend  by  a  dis- 
tinguished diplomat  to  Constantinople.  At  the  Em- 
bassy there  he  was  kept  in  touch  with  political  life,  and 
acquired  a  remarkable  knowledge  of  the  languages  and 
literature  of  the  East.  He  subsequently  travelled  in 
India  and  the  less-known  parts  of  Persia,  and  at  length 
in  the  latter  country,  with  distinction,  and  under  his 
old  chief,  he  filled  for  many  years  the  post  of  secretary 
at  Teheran.  Social  successes  were  his  reward  rather  than 
political  advancement.  Good-looking,  and  possessing 
a  temperament  of  the  kind  that  attracts  women,  women 
distinguished  and  beautiful  had  made  many  attempts 
to  cure  him  of  the  ill  opinion  of  their  sex  resulting  from 
his  first  experience  of  it.  One  of  them  had  succeeded 
so  far  that  he  and  she  together  enjoyed  the  rapture 

36 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

of  the  illusion  that  the  world  was  well  lost  for  love — an 
illusion  shipwrecked  by  its  consequences,  and  unfortu- 
nate both  for  him  and  her.  Other  incidents,  similar 
to  but  less  serious  than  this,  had  failed  to  provide  him 
with  more  than  those  passing  distractions  which  leave 
little  behind  them  but  disappointment,  and  end  in  ex- 
hausting the  fountains  of  the  expectation  which  is  the 
life-blood  of  romance.  Finally,  in  his  attitude  toward 
women,  he  had  arrived  at  a  half-humorous  cynicism, 
humanized  by  a  respect  for  them  as  creatures  who  were 
capable  of  receiving  injuries,  although  in  his  own  case 
they  could  no  longer  inflict  them,  and  whom  he  felt  him- 
self, for  his  own  part,  incapable  of  ever  again  injuring. 

But  now  all  of  a  sudden  this  assured  calm  had  been 
broken,  and  that  by  an  incident  of  seemingly  the  most 
trivial  kind.  Had  he  not  allowed  himself — such  was 
the  tenor  of  his  thoughts — to  indulge  in  a  sentimentality 
with  regard  to  a  mere  child  which  the  subtlest  fascina- 
tions of  womanhood  had  for  years  failed  to  awaken  in 
him?  And  had  he  not  allowed  himself  to  encourage  an 
outburst  of  sentiment  on  this  child's  part,  to  which 
serious  response  of  his  own  was  of  course  out  of  the  ques- 
tion ?  He  possibly  might,  so  he  told  himself,  be  making 
a  mountain  out  of  a  mole-hill;  but  his  conscience,  un- 
suspected by  himself,  had  a  secret  ally  in  his  vanity 
which  flattered  him,  as  under  similar  circumstances  it 
would  have  flattered  many  sensible  men,  with  a  renewed 
sense  of  his  aptitude  in  pleasing  the  other  sex,  and  thus 
stood  in  the  way  of  his  regarding  himself  too  lightly  as 
guiltless  on  the  ground  that  he  lacked  the  qualities  re- 
quired to  make  him  guilty.  The  moral  result  of  all  these 
searchings  of  heart  was  a  self-reproachful  pity  for  one 
so  young,  who  had  with  so  pathetic  a  readiness  put  it 
in  his  power  to  injure  her,  and  a  resolve  that,  when  he 
met  her  again,  he  would  so  readjust  his  conduct  as  to 
place  himself  clearly  before  her  in  the  guise  of  a  mere 
interested  friend. 

This  resolution  left  him  sufficiently  satisfied  to  enable 

37 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

him,  aided  by  the  prospect  of  two  impending  business 
interviews,  to  dismiss  the  subject  altogether  from  his 
mind.  These  interviews  were  for  him,  indeed,  of  ur- 
gent practical  importance.  One  was  to  be  with  the 
representative  of  a  wealthy  order  of  monks  recently  ex- 
pelled from  France,  who  desired  to  purchase  a  site  from 
him  for  the  erection  of  an  enormous  monastery.  The 
other  was  to  be  with  the  secretary  of  the  Conservative 
Association  of  Southquay,  who  was  to  give  him  a  gen- 
eral account  of  the  position  of  affairs  in  the  constitu- 
ency. 

The  former  of  these  gentlemen,  true  to  the  appointed 
minute,  arrived  before  Sir  Rawlin  had  quite  finished 
his  toast — a  solicitor  with  a  grave  aspect  worthy  of  his 
clerical  clients. 

"What  is  wanted,"  he  explained,  "is  twenty  acres  at 
the  top  of  Watbury  Hill — the  locality  which  has  already 
been  indicated  to  you;  and  I  am  authorized  to  offer  you 
a  thousand  pounds  an  acre.  This,  as  my  clients  are 
aware,  is  something  over  the  market  value;  but  if  your 
acceptance  is  prompt  they  are  not  disposed  to  haggle." 

The  offer,  indeed,  was  one  which  considerably  ex- 
ceeded his  expectations;  and  when  his  visitor,  after  an 
hour's  discussion  of  details,  left  him  alone  with  the  mat- 
ter practically  settled,  Sir  Rawlin  felt  that  he  had  solved 
the  serious  financial  difficulties  which  would  otherwise 
have  made  the  wisdom  of  his  contesting  the  constitu- 
ency doubtful.  He  was  therefore  able  to  welcome  his 
next  visitor,  the  secretary  of  the  Conservative  Associa- 
tion, in  a  spirit  of  confidence  which  agreeably  surprised 
himself. 

The  general  upshot  of  the  secretary's  information  was 
this:  that  the  electors  of  the  Southquay  division,  with 
the  exception  of  some  eight  hundred,  were  permanently 
separable  into  two  equal  bodies,  each  of  which,  con- 
sisting of  some  five  thousand  persons,  supported  on  prin- 
ciple the  Conservative  and  the  Liberal  candidate  re- 
spectively, the  result  being  dependent  on  the  action  of 

38 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

the  eight  hundred  remaining,  who  had,  so  the  secretary 
observed,  no  principles  at  all,  and  would  consequently 
be  the  only  body  with  which  a  candidate  need  much 
concern  himself.  These  arbiters  of  destiny,  he  proceed- 
ed, would  be  swayed  by  a  variety  of  considerations,  such, 
for  example,  as  the  amount  which  might  be  got  out  of 
the  candidate,  personally,  as  a  patron  of  local  institu- 
tions and  a  customer  of  local  tradesmen. 

"  You  see,  Sir  Rawlin."  he  said,  "  a  gentleman  in  your 
position  can  do  a  great  deal  in  a  place  like  this  impos- 
sible for  a  carpet-bagger.  You'll  forgive  me  for  throw- 
ing out  a  few  hints;  and  I'll  leave  these  lists  and  notes 
with  you,  that  you  may  go  over  them  at  your  leisure." 

"By- the- way,"  said  Sir  Rawlin,  when  the  agent  rose 
to  go,  "  there's  one  little  thing  more.  You  spoke  just 
now  of  the  dissenters.  From  what  I  happened  to  hear 
yesterday,  it  appears  that  the  purely  Church  party  are 
also  a  power  in  the  constituency.  Mr.  Barton,  who 
told  me  this,  promised  me  some  detailed  information. 
Do  you  know  this  Mr.  Barton,  or  what  kind  of  man  he 
is?" 

The  secretary,  who  was  bowing  himself  out  and  had 
reached  the  doorway,  paused. 

"I  don't  know  Mr.  Barton,"  he  said — "not,  so  to 
speak,  personally.  But  he's  a  masterful  man,  what- 
ever he  is.  He  fills  All  Saints'  with  his  preaching,  and, 
besides  that,  he's  a  man  of  means.  He  gave  two  thou- 
sand pounds  toward  doing  the  church  up.  He  gives  to 
the  poor,  too,  though  they  say  he  fairly  frightens  some 
of  them,  he  looks  for  all  the  world  so  exactly  like  a  for- 
eign priest.  He  has  a  quarrel  on,  by-the-way,  with  the 
president  of  the  Scientific  Institute,  who  has  dug  up 
some  old  bones  in  a  cave  which  is  close  to  All  Saints', 
and  asked  leave  to  exhibit  them  temporarily  in  one  of 
the  parish  rooms.  The  old  vicar  would  have  given  his 
consent  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Mr.  Barton,  who  said  that 
the  exhibition  of  the  bones  was  going  to  be  made  an 
excuse  for  getting  a  German  atheist  over  from  Berlin 

39 


AN    IMMORTAL    SOUL 

to  lecture  on  them.  A  surprising  number  of  people — 
not  all  women,  by  any  means — have  been  sticking  up  for 
him.  He  must  by  this  time  know  his  own  lot  pretty 
thoroughly.  Yes,  Sir  Rawlin,  if  he'll  only  tell  you 
what  he  knows,  I  should  say  you  couldn't  do  better 
than  pick  the  Reverend  Mr.  Barton's  brains." 

Sir  Rawlin,  when  the  secretary  was  gone,  glanced  at 
the  lists  which  had  been  left  with  him;  but,  despite  all 
his  late  self-criticism,  between  these  documents  and  his 
eyes  a  flower-like  image  of  youth  obtruded  its  distract- 
ing spell.  He  moved  across  the  room  to  a  sideboard, 
and  took  from  it  three  volumes  which  he  had  asked  for 
the  previous  evening — volumes  belonging  to  the  hotel. 
They  were  a  Peerage,  a  Landed  Gentry,  and  a  British 
Biographical  Annual.  Beginning  with  the  two  former, 
he  set  himself  to  find  three  names.  These  names  were 
Lipscombe,  Vivian,  and  Arundel.  The  Arundels  of 
Cliff's  End  he  had  no  difficulty  in  identifying  as  belong- 
ing to  an  old  family  well-known  in  the  county,  and  he 
was  amused  to  find  that,  among  their  many  relations, 
most  of  them  respectably  provincial,  they  counted  that 
dazzling  luminary  of  the  fashionable  world  Lady  Con- 
way.  Their  father  had  been  a  dean;  their  mother  had 
been  a  Miss  Lipscombe,  whose  brother  had  married  Su- 
sannah, daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Peebles,  who  was  some- 
how or  other  connected  with  the  dazzling  Lady  Conway 
also.  Thus  far  all  was  simple;  but  when  he  came  to 
the  Vivians,  though  a  male  Vivian  was  recorded  as  the 
husband  of  a  female  Arundel,  no  Vivian  young  lady  was 
discoverable  among  the  mass  of  bewildering  entries  who 
either  bore  the  somewhat  unfamiliar  name  of  Nest  or 
could  even  by  courtesy  be  numbered  among  Lady  Su- 
sannah's kindred.  There  was,  however,  a  Captain  Rhys 
Wynn  Vivian,  born  between  fifty  and  sixty  years  ago, 
of  whom  it  was  merely  stated  that  he  had  served  in  the 
Second  Life  Guards,  that  at  an  unnamed  date  he  had 
married  an  unnamed  lady,  and  that  by  her  he  had  had 
issue  who  were  treated  with  a  similar  reticence.  This 

40 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

man,  thought  Sir  Rawlin — vaguely  associating  his  name 
with  some  ancient  scandal — might,  perhaps,  be  Miss 
Vivian's  father,  perhaps  he  might  not;  but  as  there  was 
no  deciding  the  question  he  closed  the  Landed  Gentry, 
and  taking  up  the  Biographical  Annual  proceeded  to 
turn  its  pages  with  the  desultory  manner  of  one  who  is 
looking  for  something  which  he  knows  he  will  not  dis- 
cover. Presently  he  lit  upon  an  entry  which  caused  him 
to  give  a  slight  start  and  to  hold  the  book  in  a  position 
which  would  enable  him  to  see  more  clearly.  What  he 
read  was  as  follows: 

"Barton,  Theophilus,  the  Reverend.  Second  son  of  Oliver 
Boyne  Barton,  Esquire,  of  Belfast,  and  Augusta,  daughter  of 
the  Revd.  J.  Fitzgerald,  Canon  of  Canterbury.  Educated  at 
Rugby  and  Cambridge.  For  many  years  previous  to  taking 
orders,  Mr.  Barton  was  lecturer  on  religious  art  and  architecture 
at  the  Universities  of  Belfast,  Liverpool,  and  Manchester.  Has 
travelled  much  in  Spain,  Italy,  and  the  East.  Author  of  Our 
Lady  in  Byzantine  Art,  The  Liturgy  of  the  Church  of  Edessa,  The 
Farce  of  Scientific  Scepticism,  A  History  of  the  Pointed  Arch, 
The  Redeemer  in  Ancient  Prophecy,  The  Immanence  of  Catholic 
Unity,  The  Uncompanioned  Pilgrimage;  or,  Notes  on  Christian 
Mysticism." 

In  addition  to  these  items  of  information,  Sir  Rawlin 
learned  further  that  Mr.  Barton  had  taken  priest's  or- 
ders about  eight  years  ago,  that  he  had  been  chaplain 
to  the  Father  Superior  of  one  Anglican  confraternity, 
that  he  was  still  secretary  to  another — the  Brotherhood 
of  the  Hidden  Union — and  that,  after  some  years'  ex- 
perience of  parish  work  elsewhere,  he  had  undertaken 
his  present  duties  at  Southquay. 

Sir  Rawlin  was  still  meditating  over  this  account  of 
a  man,  the  first  sight  of  whom  had  roused  in  him  a 
curiosity  not  quite  amicable,  when  he  was  interrupted 
by  the  entrance  of  a  waiter,  and  the  announcement  of 
a  third  visitor,  whom  Sir  Rawlin's  gesture  of  surprise 
showed  to  be  quite  unexpected,  and  whose  superior  im- 
portance to  his  predecessors  was  made  sufficiently  evi- 

41 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

dent  by  the  pompous  manner  in  which  the  door  was 
thrown  and  held  open  to  admit  him.  The  new-comer 
was  a  personage  of  striking  aspect.  In  his  sedate  move- 
ments and  in  the  expression  of  his  powerful  face  there 
was  something  of  that  aloofness  which  old  age,  and  old 
age  only,  brings  to  those  who  have  played  commanding 
parts  in  life.  No  one,  indeed,  could  have  supposed  him 
to  be  less  than  seventy-five;  but  his  carefully  trimmed 
and  curling  hair  was  abundant  and  unstreaked  with 
gray,  and,  despite  their  wrinkled  lids,  his  eyes  were  so 
alive  and  luminous  that,  besides  being  unconjecturably 
old,  he  seemed  also  to  be  unconjecturably  young.  His 
form  was  very  fittingly  muffled  in  a  magnificent  sable 
overcoat;  and  a  finely  shaped  hand,  ornamented  with 
a  large  turquoise,  held  a  gold-headed  cane,  on  which 
now  and  then  he  leaned. 

"Good  Heavens!"  exclaimed  Sir  Rawlin,  going  for- 
ward to  meet  him.  "What  talisman  has  brought  you 
here,  or  what  enchanted  horse?  I  imagined  you  on 
your  travels  still  —  brooding,  perhaps,  over  the  lost 
glories  of  Sidon  or  camping  on  the  plains  of  Troy,  and 
trying  in  the  dead  of  night,  like  Apollonius  of  Tyana,  to 
raise  the  ghost  of  Achilles." 

"Free  me  from  this  burden,"  said  the  traveller,  un- 
buttoning his  heavy  furs.  "No,  my  dear  Rawlin,  I've 
tried  to  raise  one  ghost  only :  that  is  the  ghost  of  health ; 
and  with  the  help  of  my  friend  and  most  fascinating 
companion,  Dr.  Thistlewood,  I  have  not  only  raised  it, 
but  compelled  it  to  remain  with  me  in  the  flesh.  Did 
you  ever  meet  him  ?  He's  the  only  man  I  know  of  who 
has  deliberately  taken  to  medicine  as  the  true  route  to 
philosophy.  I  always  tell  him  that  when  he  uses  his 
stethoscope  he  is  listening  for  the  heart-beats,  not  of  his 
patients,  but  of  the  universe.  If  I  had  to  choose  my 
own  career  over  again  I'd  be  a  doctor — a  doctor  like 
Thistlewood,  who  can  pick  his  patients,  travel  to  find 
them,  collect  them,  house  them,  compare  them,  and 
never  need  think  of  fees,  except  those  that  are  forced 

42 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

on  him.  If  you've  not  met  him,  you  must  meet  him. 
You'll  find  that  you  never  knew  what  a  doctor  was  like 
before.  But  I  didn't  come  this  morning  to  talk  about 
Dr.  Thistlewood.  I  came  because  I  just  heard  at  the 
hotel  where  I've  been  staying  for  a  night  or  two  that 
you  had  just  arrived  yourself,  and  that  there  is  a  ques- 
tion of  your  standing  for  this  constituency.  Well,  I  was 
one  of  your  trustees,  so  I'm  privileged  to  speak  plainly. 
Elections,  my  dear  Rawlin,  even  in  these  days,  cost 
something — I  only  wish  they  cost  more — and  what  I 
want  to  tell  you  is  that,  if  you  felt  it  unwise  to  burden 
the  estate  with  the  expense  of  a  contest,  you  would  be 
giving  me  one  of  the  best  of  pleasures  yet  possible  for 
me  by  allowing  me  to  consider  such  expenses  as  my 
affair,  not  yours." 

"  I  would,"  said  Sir  Rawlin,  "have  accepted  your  offer 
with  gratitude  if  I  had  not  had  a  windfall  this  morning 
of  twenty  thousand  pounds.  Read  that  memorandum 
and  congratulate  me.  If  the  Protestants  attack  me,  I 
can  tell  them  that  I  have  spoiled  the  Egyptians." 

"I  congratulate  you,"  said  the  traveller,  as  he  handed 
back  the  paper,  "though  the  bounty  of  the  Church  has 
left  me  out  in  the  cold.  And  now,  what  do  you  say? 
I've  a  carriage  at  the  door,  which  will  take  me  presently 
to  the  station,  but  there's  half  an  hour  to  spare.  Shall 
we  drive,  and  enjoy  the  morning — a  morning  worthy 
of  Naples?  Or,  better  still,  shall  we  walk  up  through 
the  gardens,  and  send  the  carriage  round  to  meet  us  on 
the  road  above?" 

Sir  Rawlin  assented  to  this  latter  proposal  with  alac- 
rity, as  the  course  of  the  walk  suggested  lay,  he  said,  in 
the  very  direction  in  which  a  business  appointment 
would,  in  any  case,  take  him  presently. 

The  road  to  which  the  traveller  had  alluded,  known 
as  the  New  Drive,  was  one  of  the  most  beautiful  and 
most  peculiar  features  of  Southquay.  High  above  the 
hotel,  at  the  back  of  which  were  wooded  cliffs,  it  fol- 
lowed the  folds  and  protrusions  of  the  steep  hills  for  a 
4  43 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

mile  or  so.  Above  it  were  fir  woods.  From  its  edge 
down  to  the  sea  descended  exotic  evergreens  inter- 
spersed with  natural  brushwood,  among  which  scram- 
bled a  number  of  labyrinthine  pathways;  and  slowly 
up  one  of  these  pathways  the  two  companions  climbed. 

The  traveller,  who  was  for  his  years  a  surprisingly 
vigorous  walker,  was  now  free,  since  the  purpose  of  his 
visit  was  accomplished,  to  return  to  the  subject  of  Dr. 
Thistlewood,  and  also  to  explain  the  reason  of  his  own 
presence  in  Southquay.  Southquay,  he  said,  with  which 
he  had  been  long  familiar,  had  been  recommended  to 
him  as  possessing  the  best  spring  climate  in  England  for 
one  who,  like  himself,  had  just  returned  from  warmer 
regions.  He  proposed  accordingly  to  take  a  house  there 
for  a  month  or  two,  and  have  Dr.  Thistlewood  as  his 
guest,  if  one  which  would  suit  both  of  them  could  be 
got  ready  in  time — an  arrangement,  he  added,  which 
would  possibly  have  the  result  of  Dr.  Thistlewood's  con- 
tinuing the  tenancy  of  the  house  himself,  and  using  it 
as  one  of  the  private  homes  or  hospitals,  of  which  he 
had  several,  for  the  treatment  of  selected  patients. 

"I  suppose,"  continued  the  traveller,  "you  know  his 
history  and  the  source  of  his  great  fortune.  His  mother 
was  an  American  heiress.  His  nominal  father  was  an 
Englishman — the  last,  I  believe,  of  an  old  but  decayed 
family — an  officer  in  the  Austrian  army.  His  real  father 
was  undoubtedly  the  Archduke  Francis.  Well,  so  far 
as  his  own  medical  practice  is  concerned,  one  new  feature 
which  he  has  been  able  to  introduce  is  this :  Many  doc- 
tors will  treat  poor  patients  for  nothing.  Dr.  Thistle- 
wood  will  always,  if  necessary,  pay  them  liberally  for 
being  treated." 

"Dr.  Thistlewood,"  said  Sir  Rawlin,  "is  evidently  a 
most  benevolent  man." 

"  He  is,"  replied  the  traveller.  "  He  is  as  benevolent 
to  sufferers  as  St.  Francis.  But  among  Dr.  Thistle- 
wood's  motives  kindness  is  merely  an  incident.  'My 
patients,"  he  says — '  especially  the  most  simple  and  igno- 

44 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

rant  of  them — give  me  much  more  knowledge  than  I  can 
ever  give  them  in  care  or  even  in  cure  as  a  return  for  it. 
Brother  Ignorance,'  he  says — he's  a  great  reader  of  St. 
Francis — 'it  is  from  you  I  learn  half  my  science.'" 

Sir  Rawlin  turned  to  his  companion  with  an  air  of 
somewhat  quickened  interest. 

"I  should,"  he  said,  "like  to  meet  him." 

"You  shall,"  said  the  traveller,  "if  you  stay  on  here, 
as  I  hope  you  will.  But  here  we  are  at  our  summit. 
Italy,  my  dear  fellow,  Italy!  Those  two  rocks  there 
might  be  the  Isles  of  the  Sirens." 

The  views  from  the  New  Drive,  on  the  asphalt  pave- 
ment of  which  they  were  by  this  time  standing,  were 
indeed  of  a  kind  unequalled  in  Northern  Europe.  The 
restless  waters,  through  layers  of  headlong  foliage,  show- 
ed their  blue  surface  growing  milky  as  they  murmured 
on  the  beach  below.  Here  and  there  on  the  blueness  was 
a  white  or  a  ruddy  sail  and  the  oval  of  a  boat's  deck. 
Two  island  rocks  shone  each  in  its  fringe  of  foam. 

The  traveller  leaned  on  the  railing  by  which  the  edge 
of  the  footway  was  protected,  and  contemplated  the 
scene  in  silence.  Gray  cliffs  in  the  distance,  with  furze- 
dotted  downs  above  them,  landward  slopes  darkened 
with  clinging  copses,  the  near  greens  of  the  macrocarpas, 
Irish  yews,  and  the  tops  of  laurel,  crowding  the  gardens 
from  whose  depths  he  had  just  climbed,  the  cloudless 
ultramarine  of  the  sky,  the  bloom  and  glitter  of  the  sea, 
fanned  by  the  faintest  and  mildest  of  all  spring  breezes, 
the  light-hearted  sparkle  of  the  foam  where  the  brine 
was  whispering  to  the  rocks — to  him  and  to  his  com- 
panion likewise — made  it  seem  as  though  all  the  world 
were  singing. 

"Why,  with  this  at  their  doors,"  he  said,  "should 
Englishmen  go  to  Naples  ?  All  Europe  came  to  look  at 
this  in  days  which  you  and  I  remember.  Who  comes 
here  now?  Let  us  walk  on.  The  answer  is  here  be- 
fore us." 

By  a  slight  gesture  of  the  hand  he  indicated  the  in- 

45 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

frequent  pedestrians  and  occupants  of  shabby  flies,  to 
whom  the  New  Drive  was  apparently  at  that  moment 
abandoned.  In  some  of  the  flies  nondescript  men 
lounged,  who  were  exchanging  jokes  with  the  drivers. 
In  others  were  shapeless  bundles  of  female  cloaks  and 
wrappings,  surmounted  by  appropriate  faces,  whose  as- 
pect was  either  blank  or  peevish.  The  male  pedestrians, 
though  sufficiently  well  dressed,  seemed  to  wear  their 
leisure-like  clothes  that  did  not  fit  them.  Some  of  them 
spat,  or  nudged  each  other  as  they  went  along,  or  en- 
livened their  conversation  by  throwing  a  stone  aimless- 
ly. The  females  were  models  of  decorum,  most  of  them 
embodiments  of  maidenly  middle-age,  who  produced  on 
the  passing  observer  no  other  impression  than  that  of  a 
vague  briskness  or  equally  vague  dejection. 

"  If  the  sirens,"  said  the  traveller,  presently,  "still  in- 
habit their  islands,  they  are  evidently  not  in  the  habit 
of  making  trips  to  the  shore.  These  people,"  he  con- 
tinued, "some  of  them,  are  no  doubt  invalids.  Well, 
we  don't  grudge  them  the  healing  of  rest  and  nature 
because  they  are  not  personally  interesting  either  to  you 
or  me.  Indeed,  even  to  us  they  are  interesting  in  a  cer- 
tain sense.  The  sorrows  of  the  unattractive  are  speci- 
mens of  all  sorrow,  a  drop  from  the  universal  reservoir, 
just  as  beauty  and  charm  are,  whether  those  of  a  woman 
or  a  flower.  Still,  the  most  ferocious  humanitarian  will 
hardly  blame  us  for  regretting  that  we  have  not  here  a 
few  examples  of  the  flower-like  women  as  well.  Look," 
he  said,  taking  Sir  Rawlin's  arm.  "  Beyond  this  dip  in 
the  ground,  where  the  road  disappears  round  the  corner, 
you  can  see  two  women  like  black  shadows  against  the 
sky.  You  can't  mistake  them.  They  are  going  to  sit 
down  on  a  bench.  Well,  merely  from  the  way  in  which 
they  move,  you  can  see  that  those  women  are  some- 
thing quite  different  from  the  others.  As  for  the  others 
— watch  them,  group  after  group.  They  almost  para- 
lyze one's  power  of  believing  that  an  attractive  woman 
is  possible." 

46 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

The  Drive  had  by  this  time  turned  away  from  the  sea. 
Below  it  was  a  deep  valley,  rural  with  fields  and  hedge- 
rows, and  the  hill  opposite  ran  out  to  a  promontory  on 
which,  among  thickets  of  ilex,  was  a  cluster  of  white 
gables.  Sir  Rawlin  had  recognized  them  already;  and 
there  was  something  in  his  companion's  tone — a  subtle 
suggestion  of  far-off  romance  and  gallantry  —  which 
brought  back  to  him  under  a  new  aspect  his  own  ad- 
ventures of  yesterday.  His  self-reproaches  with  regard 
to  them  began  to  renew  their  sting;  but  this  was  ac- 
companied by  a  surprisingly  bright  reblossoming  of  the 
thought  that  romance  and  he  had  not  yet  quite  parted 
company. 

"I  can,"  he  said,  "give  you  a  better  proof  than  your 
own  that  the  sirens  in  this  part  of  the  world  do  come 
ashore  occasionally.  I  found  one  in  a  sea-fog  yester- 
day, on  the  top  of  a  high  hill.  She  has  her  home  for  the 
time  in  that  house  which  is  facing  us.  Her  toilet  must 
have  been  designed  by  Fragonard.  She  might  be  a 
shepherdess  on  a  fan ;  and  she  ought  to  have  a  jewelled 
crook,  and  be  leading  a  lamb  by  a  rose-colored  ribbon. 
We  might,  if  we  had  a  pair  of  glasses  here,  be  able  to 
see  her  little  red  cap  among  the  bushes." 

They  had  both  stopped  in  their  walk  and  were  looking 
toward  Cliff's  End.  The  traveller's  face  was  by  this 
time  all  attention,  and  Sir  Rawlin  proceeded  to  describe 
the  events  of  the  previous  day,  disguising  by  the  levity 
of  his  manner  both  the  interest  and  the  trouble  which 
they  had  not  ceased  to  excite  in  him. 

"  I  envy  you,"  said  his  companion,  when  the  story  had 
reached  its  close.  "When  I  come  back  from  London 
you  must  introduce  me.  Lady  Susannah — yes — I  must 
have  seen  her  when  she  was  a  plain  girl.  My  dear  fel- 
low," he  went  on,  "there  are  two  passions — and  politics 
is  not  one  of  them — through  which  we  approach  the 
secret  which  alone  makes  life  valuable:  the  passion  for 
woman  and  the  deeper  passion  for  knowledge.  Only 
this  last  remains  mine.  Both  may  still  be  yours." 

47 


AN   IMMORTAL  SOUL 

"You  are  wrong,"  said  Sir  Rawlin,  conscious  of  re- 
draping  himself  in  the  toga  of  his  true  character.  "  When 
men  have  loved  and  recovered  from  love  a  sufficient 
number  of  times,  they  find  that  any  fresh  experience  of 
it,  even  if  they  should  be  tempted  to  wish  for  this,  would 
be  only  folly  for  themselves  and  only  cruelty  for  others. 
But,  to  turn  to  a  subject  a  little  more  interesting 
than  myself,  we  are  coming  to  your  own  two  ladies, 
whose  distinction  was  so  evident  to  you  from  a  distance. 
The  near  one,  at  all  events — for  I  can't  see  the  other 
— is,  I  regret  it  for  your  sake,  not  very  well  turned 
out." 

This  last  observation,  which  was  made  in  a  discreetly 
subdued  voice,  was  hardly  out  of  his  mouth  when  the 
subject  of  it  made  a  gesture  in  his  direction  which  was 
not  unlike  a  bow.  In  some  surprise  he  glanced  at  her 
for  a  second  time.  The  gesture  was  repeated,  and  he 
recognized  Miss  Nina  Arundel.  She  rose  to  meet  him, 
and  as  she  did  so  the  figure  of  her  companion  revealed 
itself.  It  was  that  of  Miss  Nest  Vivian.  Her  hat  was 
trimmed  with  sable.  On  her  breast  was  a  bunch  of 
violets.  Her  face,  rather  pale,  was  like  ivory  that  had 
been  rubbed  with  rose-leaves. 

Sir  Rawlin  was  acutely  conscious  that,  were  he  some- 
what younger,  he  would  be  blushing.  He  glanced  tow- 
ard her  with  a  certain  sense  of  shyness,  almost  afraid  of 
the  feeling  which  she  might  possibly  display  on  seeing 
him.  She,  however,  unlike  her  cousin,  betrayed  abso- 
lutely no  consciousness  of  his  presence.  She  remained, 
indeed,  to  all  appearance,  absorbed  in  the  contempla- 
tion of  her  muff  till  Miss  Arundel,  slightly  stooping  tow- 
ard her,  said: 

"Nest,  here's  Sir  Rawlin  Stantor."  Then  she  at  once 
looked  up,  and  her  smile  and  the  inclination  of  her  head 
were  so  civil  in  their  complete  self-possession  that  a 
stranger  might  have  thought  them  encouraging.  But 
she  did  not  extend  her  hand,  and  there  was  in  her  ex- 
pression and  movements  no  trace  whatever  of  any  recol- 

48 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

lected  intimacy — it  seemed,  indeed,  hardly  any  of  any 
recollected  acquaintance. 

Sir  Rawlin's  feelings  for  a  moment  were  beyond  his 
own  powers  of  analysis.  That  which  was  uppermost  was 
a  feeling  of  his  own  folly  in  having  wasted  his  valuable 
scruples  on  an  impudent  little  minx  like  this,  who  ac- 
tually presumed  to  treat  him  as  some  smart  young  lady 
in  London  might  treat  a  casual  partner  in  whose  arms 
she  had  waltzed  at  Cairo.  His  next  feeling  was  that 
he  was  shaking  himself  free  from  all  thoughts  of  her,  as 
though  they  were  unwelcome  substances  which  had  ac- 
cidentally settled  on  his  coat.  Meanwhile  he  was  con- 
scious that  Miss  Arundel  was  addressing  him  with  much 
friendliness. 

"My  cousin,"  she  was  saying,  "has  tired  herself  by 
coming  too  fast  uphill.  Sir  Rawlin,  my  aunt  is  so 
pleased  to  have  met  you.  She  has  written  you  a  letter 
this  morning,  which  Nest  and  I  have  been  posting;  and 
she  hopes  very  much  that  she  will  soon  see  you  again." 

Sir  Rawlin  was  not  a  man  who  was  easily  put  out  of 
countenance.  He  made  Miss  Arundel  a  cordial  though 
curt  response;  he  raised  his  hat  with  a  conventional 
smile  to  Miss  Vivian;  and,  declaring  that  his  engage- 
ments would  not  allow  him  to  delay,  he  hastened  to  re- 
join his  companion,  who  had  walked  on  slowly  before 
him. 

"Your  eyes,"  he  said,  with  a  dry  laugh,  "are  much 
better  than  mine.  One  of  those  two  ladies  of  yours  is 
my  beautiful  shepherdess  herself.  Of  course  she's  a 
mere  child." 

The  traveller,  who  had  been  watching  the  meeting, 
cast  a  parting  glance  behind  him. 

"I  was  sure  of  it,"  he  said,  striking  the  ground  with 
his  stick.  "  I  commend  your  judgment  and  envy  you 
your  good-fortune.  For  years  I've  seen  nothing  like 
her.  God  bless  me,  you  talk  of  her  as  a  child!  A  girl 
like  that  is  never  a  child.  At  fifteen  she  has  in  her  the 
eternal  charm  of  womanhood,  and  —  my  dear  fellow, 

49 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

take  care  of  the  horses — unless  her  digestion  fails  her, 
she  will  never  be  an  old  woman.  Well,  here's  the  car- 
riage. Are  you  coming  with  me  ?  Or  shall  I  leave  you 
free  to  go  back  to  the  shepherdess  ?" 

"I'm  coming  on  with  you,"  said  Sir  Rawlin.  "Will 
you  put  me  down  near  the  church  with  the  gray  spire  ? 
I've  no  time  this  morning  for  any  shepherdess  of  hearts. 
My  business  lies  with  a  shepherd  of  souls  and  votes." 


CHAPTER  V 

1"^HE  house,  of  which,  as  a  lodger,  Mr.  Barton  oc- 
cupied the  whole,  was  close  to  the  church,  and 
coeval  with  the  new  school  buildings.  With  its  pointed 
arches  of  raw  red  and  white  bricks,  it  wore  the  aspect 
of  a  miniature  modern  vicarage.  It  opened  on  the 
gravelled  precinct  which  Sir  Rawlin  had  crossed  yes- 
terday, and  which  now  in  the  brilliant  sunlight  was 
checkered  with  the  shadows  of  the  tall,  leafless  elms.  The 
actual  vicarage,  with  its  shrubberies,  its  ample,  low- 
lying  roofs,  and  its  comfortable  stucco,  discolored  by  the 
weather  of  sixty  years,  facing  Mr.  Barton's  door,  formed 
one  side  of  the  enclosure;  and  before  its  pillared  porch, 
at  the  moment  of  Sir  Rawlin's  approach,  was  a  little 
group,  the  central  object  of  which  was  an  old-fashioned 
Bath-chair.  In  this  was  an  old  man  with  a  delicate 
and  scholarly  face,  while  a  matronly  lady,  not  much 
younger  than  himself,  was  administering  something  to 
him  which  appeared  to  be  a  glass  of  wine,  and  a  footman 
with  silver  buttons  was  adjusting  the  leather  apron. 
Sir  Rawlin  felt  that  here  must  be  the  same  old  vicar  who 
had  been  celebrated  as  a  translator  of  St.  Chrysostom 
some  thirty  years  ago.  It  was  a  peaceful  scene,  per- 
vaded by  that  atmosphere  of  spiritual  united  with  world- 
ly dignity  which  the  English  Establishment  has  alone 
known  how  to  generate.  The  rooks  cawed  overhead 
and  the  bells  of  the  gray  tower  chimed  the  hour  of  noon. 
Having  passed  through  the  stillness,  which  these 
sounds  alone  broke,  to  the  door  of  Mr.  Barton's  resi- 
dence, Sir  Rawlin  pressed  the  button  of  a  modern  elec- 
tric bell.  In  another  moment  an  obliging  maid  was  in- 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

forming  him  that  Mr.  Barton  was  out,  but  would  very 
shortly  return,  and  had  begged,  with  many  apologies, 
that  Sir  Rawlin  would  step  in  and  wait  for  him.  The 
visitor  was  accordingly  taken  through  a  clean-smelling, 
distempered  passage,  with  a  tiled  floor  and  a  dado  of 
varnished  pitch-pine,  and  shown  into  a  room  whose 
mellow  and  scholastic  aspect  was,  in  a  house  so  new,  at 
once  pleasant  and  surprising.  Up  to  two-thirds  of  their 
height  the  walls  were  lined  with  book-shelves,  the  re- 
maining space  being  occupied  with  engravings  of  re- 
ligious pictures  and  a  number  of  very  large  photographs 
representing  ecclesiastical  buildings.  The  floor  was  cov- 
ered with  a  matting  of  dusky  green,  hard  in  texture 
but  very  delicate  in  color,  and  the  whole  of  the  wide 
window  was  blocked  by  an  enormous  writing-table. 

Gradually  other  details  forced  themselves  on  Sir 
Rawlin's  notice.  Hung  by  wires  from  the  top  moulding 
of  the  book-shelves  and  hiding  many  of  the  books  were 
some  antique  colored  plaques  representing,  in  high  relief, 
heads  of  Italian  saints  in  meditation  or  in  acts  of  ecstasy. 
On  the  writing-table  was  a  tall  crucifix,  some  docketed 
bundles  of  what  evidently  were  business  letters,  and  a 
something  which  seemed  at  first  to  be  a  broken  ormolu 
ink-stand,  but  which  proved,  on  nearer  inspection,  to 
be  a  small  and  curious  censer.  More  interesting,  how- 
ever, than  any  other  objects  were  the  books,  many  of 
them  ragged  in  aspect,  most  of  them  bearing  signs  of 
use.  They  were  very  various  in  character.  There  were 
government  blue-books,  text-books  of  logic  and  history, 
and  travellers'  guide-books,  interspersed  with  Italian 
poets.  There  were  learned  treatises  on  Pompeii  and  the 
Roman  Forum,  on  the  schools  of  mediaeval  painters,  and 
the  development  of  Christian  architecture.  There  was  a 
copy  of  Plato's  Banquet,  translated  and  bound  in  vellum, 
an  Imitation  of  Christ,  The  Interior  Castle  of  St.  Theresa, 
The  Spiritual  Combat,  The  Dark  Night  of  the  Soul,  and 
between  a  Keats  and  Shelley  was  The  Little  Flowers  of 
St.  Francis.  There  were  four  lives  of  St.  Ignatius,  the 

52 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

works  of  St.  Thomas  Aquinas,  and  a  treatise  by  an 
English  Jesuit  called  The  Collapse  of  Darwinism.  Be- 
sides these,  in  noticeably  handsome  bindings,  were  some 
large  illustrated  volumes  dealing  with  Christian  ritual 
and  symbolism;  and  on  a  small  table  were  some  others, 
costly  in  appearance,  and  evidently  quite  new,  one  of 
which,  lying  open,  displayed  an  exquisite  reproduction 
of  a  picture  of  a  virginal  and  blue-robed  saint  from 
whose  worn  face  time  had  fallen,  and  who  was  knowing 
the  abyss  of  ecstasy  as  she  was  kissed  by  the  Divine 
Bridegroom. 

Such  were  the  typical  features  of  the  priest's  library 
which  caught  Sir  Rawlin's  eye,  and  gave  him  a  strange 
impression,  as  though  he  were  being  surrounded  by  the 
thoughts,  the  struggles,  and  the  secret  emotions  of  the 
man.  Above  the  chimney-piece  was  a  drawing  of  a  boy 
dressed  like  a  chorister,  on  the  margin  of  which  were 
pencilled  the  words  "  In  Memoriam,"  together  with  two 
lines  borrowed  from  a  well-known  hymn: 

"  Brother,  thou  art  gone  before  me, 
And  thy  saintly  soul  is  flown." 

Under  this  portrait  was  a  photograph  of  a  monument  to 
Mr.  Barton's  mother.  On  the  margin  of  this  also  there 
was  a  pencilled  word.  It  was  "Dilectissima." 

Sir  Rawlin  was  still  engaged  in  contemplating  these 
objects  when  steps  were  heard  outside,  and  Mr.  Barton, 
habited  in  a  cassock,  entered. 

"Sir  Rawlin,"  he  exclaimed,  "I  trust  you  will  forgive 
me  for  my  lateness  when  I  tell  you  that  I've  just  been 
waiting  to  administer  the  last  sacraments  to  an  unfort- 
unate, dying  woman — waiting,  alas!  in  vain.  She  had, 
with  a  view  to  allaying  some  poor  momentary  distress, 
been  literally  so  drugged  by  one  of  these  godless  doc- 
tors that  she  died  before  my  very  eyes  without  recover- 
ing consciousness.  However,  what's  done  is  done.  I 
shall  remember  her  at  mass  next  Sunday.  Pray,  Sir 
Rawlin,  sit  down,  and  let  us  proceed  to  business."  Mr. 

53 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

Barton's  manner,  despite  his  somewhat  high-pitched 
voice,  had  now  become  that  of  a  shrewd  man  of  affairs. 
"We  have,"  he  said,  producing  a  paper  on  which  some 
figures  were  scribbled — "we  have  among  the  voters  in 
the  Division  seven  hundred  and  forty  communicants, 
whose  votes  would  be  determined  primarily  by  the 
candidate's  attitude  toward  the  Church.  Apart  from 
Church  matters,  we  should  most  of  us  be  on  your  side — 
the  Conservative.  But — let  us  make  no  bones  about  it 
— with  us  the  Church  comes  first  and  all  other  considera- 
tions second.  And  now  let  me  tell  you  what,  politically, 
our  claims  for  the  Church  are." 

Sir  Rawlin  declaring  that  this  was  just  what  he  wished 
to  learn,  Mr.  Barton,  slightly  shrugging  his  shoulders, 
proceeded  to  observe  that  the  Church — her  distinguish- 
ing note  being  the  possession  of  apostolic  orders — was  of 
necessity  one  or  other  of  two  things.  She  was  a  prod- 
uct of  human  delusion  or  the  custodian  of  supernatural 
truth.  If  she  were  the  former,  she  should  be  suppressed. 
If  she  were  the  latter,  she  should  be  supreme.  In 
especial — for  politically  this  was  the  most  urgent  ques- 
tion— the  Church  must,  as  the  intellectual  mother  of  the 
nation,  be  placed  at  no  disadvantage  in  endeavoring 
to  maintain  and  extend  her  rightful  influence  over 
the  young,  protecting  them,  on  the  one  hand,  from  the 
aberrations  of  dissent  and  heresy,  and,  on  the  other, 
from  that  shallow  materialism,  scarcely  less  deadly, 
which  now  was  aiming,  under  the  specious  name  of 
science,  at  loosening  the  primary  bonds  of  all  social 
morality,  and  owed  such  success  as  it  had  to  this  un- 
acknowledged cause.  "If,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  in  con- 
clusion, "  the  Secular  Arm  will  be  her  servant,  so  much 
the  better  for  all.  If  not,  let  us  do  without  it.  Briefly, 
Sir  Rawlin,  the  thing  we  ask  for  is  freedom — freedom 
of  belief,  ritual,  discipline,  and  educational  action;  and 
that's  hardly  a  demand  which,  among  Englishmen,  ought 
to  be  so  very  unpopular." 

"Well,"  said  Sir  Rawlin,  who  had  proved  himself  a 

54 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

most  excellent  listener,  "if  freedom  is  what  you  want 
for  your  religion,  I  think  I  may  honestly  say  that  you'll 
find  me  quite  at  one  with  you.  I  need  not  go  into  de- 
tails, but  let  me  give  you  two  examples  of  my  meaning. 
Wherever  a  desire  prevails  to  worship  the  sacred  ele- 
ments, I  would  have  the  English  clergy  free  to  reserve 
and  expose  them.  Wherever  a  belief  prevails  in  the 
general  necessity  for  confession,  I  would  have  them  free 
to  fill  their  aisles  with  confessionals." 

Mr.  Barton,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  subsided  into  an 
easier  attitude,  and  his  face  assumed  a  more  intimate 
and  less  official  expression. 

"Sir  Rawlin,"  he  said,  "it's  my  impression  that  you're 
a  man  after  our  own  heart." 

"Perhaps,"  Sir  Rawlin  replied,  judiciously  turning 
the  conversation  to  a  question  somewhat  less  direct, 
"my  own  sacerdotalism  goes  further  even  than  yours, 
for,  if  we  have  priests  at  all,  my  own  view  is  that  they 
should  be  celibate." 

Mr.  Barton  reflected  and  made  a  slight  grimace,  in- 
dicative of  hesitation  rather  than  of  substantial  dis- 
agreement. 

"I  am  not,"  he  said,  "in  favor  of  any  general  pro- 
hibition. I  have  seen  among  the  married  clergy  many 
beautiful  lives.  But  I  pray  and  have  worked  for  the 
growth  of  celibate  orders,  and  I  look  on  celibacy  as  a 
part  of  my  own  personal  vocation." 

"I  was  only,"  said  Sir  Rawlin,  "giving  utterance  to 
a  sort  of  pious  opinion  which  has,  after  all,  much  to  say 
for  itself.  Celibacy  was  obligatory  on  all  the  priests  of 
Isis,  and  even  the  fiery  Tertullian,  as  you  may  perhaps 
recollect,  declared  that  their  chastity  might  be  a  lesson 
to  many  Christians." 

Mr.  Barton's  face  lit  up  with  a  sudden  brotherliness, 
and  the  last  trace  of  a  frost,  which  had  been  slowly  melt- 
ing, disappeared. 

"Ah!"  he  exclaimed,  "so  you  read  the  Fathers,  do 
you  ?  How  nice,  now !  Yes,  the  Fathers — there  are  plenty 

55 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

of  them  on  my  shelves.  If  we  wish  for  corporate  reunion, 
it  is  to  them  we  must  go  back.  Ah,  Rome!  Rome! — 
separated  from  us  simply  by  the  perverse  pretensions  of 
her  Vatican,  and  putting  artificial  restrictions  round  the 
treasures  of  her  spiritual  life!" 

"I  noticed  your  Fathers,"  said  Sir  Rawlin,  "while  I 
waited  for  you.  I  noticed  also  your  architectural  pict- 
ures ;  and  I  wanted  to  ask  you  what  is  that  bit  up  there, 
with  the  buttresses  and  the  three  windows  ?  The  arches 
are  Norman,  but  the  ornamentation  is  early  English." 

Mr.  Barton  rose  with  alacrity  and  turned  to  the  pict- 
ure indicated.  "Dear,  dear,"  he  said,  "this  is  nicer 
still!  You're  a  student  of  architecture  also.  Fancy 
your  noticing  that!  I  hope  you'll  allow  me  to  show 
you  our  own  church  some  day.  Well,  that  bit  is  a  part 
of  the  cathedral  at  Kirkwall — beautiful,  huge,  red  cathe- 
dral, looking  out  from  its  narrow  isthmus  over  its  two 
seas.  Changes  in  architectural  style  reached  the  Ork- 
neys so  slowly  that,  though  Kirkwall  Cathedral  took  four 
hundred  years  to  build,  we  find  the  round  Norman  arch 
surviving  there  to  the  very  last,  though  the  details  of 
ornamentation  had  changed.  Next  to  that  picture,  if 
all  this  is  not  boring  you,  is  another  queer  example  of 
very  much  the  same  thing.  It's  the  church  built  by 
the  Goths  at  Narranco,  in  the  north  of  Spain.  Do  you 
make  out  what  the  Christian  builders  have  been  doing? 
They've  been  actually  copying  some  of  the  details  of  a 
Roman  temple.  Do  you  see  how  they've  placed  the 
altar?  Delightfully  quaint,  isn't  it?  But,  my  dear  Sir 
Rawlin,  aren't  we  rather  straying  from  our  muttons — 
our  political  muttons,  I  mean?  Or  may  we  suppose 
that  we  understand  each  other?  I  think  we  may;  but 
I  should  just  like  to  ask  you  one  thing.  Please  sit  down 
again  and  be  comfortable.  There  has  been  a  rather  tire- 
some business  going  on  here  lately.  We  have  in  South- 
quay  what  they  call  a  scientific  institute.  This,  in  the 
old  days,  was  all  very  well  in  its  way;  but  for  the  last 
five  years — it  began  before  I  came  here — the  trustees  of 

56 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

the  institute  and  the  trustees  of  the  local  museum  have 
been  putting  their  heads  together,  and  have  started  in 
the  museum  building  a  succession  of  lectures  which  are 
not  scientific,  although  they  profess  to  be  so.  I  don't 
know  that  the  lecturers  ever  openly  attack  revelation, 
but  they  deal  with  history,  even  sacred  history,  and  with 
natural  history  also — indeed,  with  everything,  just  as 
though  revelation  did  not  exist.  Well,  after  all,  this 
might  not  have  done  much  harm,  for  I  believe  that  at 
these  lectures  the  attendance  was  refreshingly  poor ;  but 
within  these  last  two  years,  as  you  very  likely  know, 
some  old  bones  have  been  discovered  in  a  cavern  close 
to  the  church  here;  and  last  Christmas  there  was  a 
specially  precious  discovery — the  vertebrae  of  a  mam- 
moth and  some  chipped  pieces  of  flint.  Possibly  the 
mammoth  had  been  gnawing  them.  This  has  not  yet 
transpired.  Anyhow,  the  long  and  short  of  it  is  that  I 
have  encountered  a  storm  of  abuse,  because,  acting  for 
my  vicar,  I've  refused  the  use  of  a  little  hall  of  ours  to 
a  conference  of  scientific  free-thinkers,  who  want  to  ex- 
hibit these  remains  merely — for  they  can  have  no  other 
possible  object — merely  as  an  excuse  for  another  of  their 
childish  attacks  upon  the  Bible.  Now,  you  would  wish, 
I  hope,  that  the  Church  should  be  mistress  of  her  own 
buildings,  and  free  to  refuse  the  use  of  them  for  any 
purpose  which  she  condemns." 

"I  think,"  said  Sir  Rawlin,  "that  to  expect  a  body 
like  the  Church  to  lend  its  buildings  to  people  who  want 
to  undermine  its  principles  is  like  asking  the  House  of 
Commons  to  lend  its  cellars  to  Guy  Fawkes." 

"Capital!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Barton.  "Capital!  I'm  de- 
lighted to  hear  you  say  so.  In  one  way,  of  course," 
he  continued,  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders,  "it's  not  a 
bad  thing  to  allow  this  so-called  science  to  expose  itself 
to  sensible  people  by  proclaiming  its  own  absurdities, 
but  it's  not  the  business  of  the  Church  to  provide  it 
with  the  means  of  doing  so,  and  the  remedy  has  its  dan- 
gers. You  know  those  two  boys  at  Cliff's  End — Lady 

57 


AN    IMMORTAL    SOUL 

Susannah's  nephews.  I  don't  believe  that  at  bottom 
there's  very  much  harm  in  either  of  them,  but  they  are 
both  infected — even  the  youngest  one — with  this  cant 
of  what  they  call  science,  and  what  is  really  the  old 
materialism  in  its  crudest  and  absurdest  form.  The 
younger  one — little  jackanapes! — actually  said  in  my 
hearing  that  faith  was  an  affection  of  the  nerves,  and 
that  the  human  conscience  was  so  much  cellular  tissue. 
One  doesn't  so  much  blame  them  as  those  from  whom 
they  pick  this  up.  The  chatter  of  those  boys  is  really 
not  more  absurd  than  what  a  certain  class  of  professors 
are  gravely  preaching  to-day  to  artisans  who  are  hardly 
worse  educated  than  themselves.  Well,  Sir  Rawlin,  as 
for  you,  I  felt  sure  of  your  answer.  You'd  have  the 
Church  the  mistress  of  her  own  buildings.  I  believe 
that,  if  you  consent  to  stand,  the  Church  party  will  vote 
solidly  for  you.  And  now,  what  say  you  to  a  cigarette  ? 
Let  me  offer  you  my  one  luxury ;  and  may  I  ask  you  to 
give  me  your  opinion  on  a  matter  of  a  different  kind? 
I  have  in  this  parcel  some  books  which  have  been  sent 
me  as  samples  of  binding.  Which  of  the  bindings  do 
you  prefer?  The  books  are  little  manuals  which  I'm 
going  to  give  to  my  confirmation  classes." 

" I  should  think,"  said  Sir  Rawlin,  "that  the  red  would 
keep  cleaner  than  the  white.  I  can't  help  seeing  the 
price.  For  one-and-fourpence  they're  astonishing.  But 
surely — may  I  look  at  that  other? — the  purple  one  with 
gilt  edges — you  can't  get  a  thing  like  that  for  the  same 
money?" 

Mr.  Barton,  exhibiting  some  slight  trace  of  reluctance, 
produced  the  book  in  question — a  masterpiece  of  sub- 
dued daintiness. 

"No,"  he  said,  "I'm  afraid  one  can't.  And  even  if 
one  could — well,  one  doesn't  wish  to  be  snobbish,  and 
a  respecter  of  persons;  but,  as  you  said  just  now,  the 
poorer  children  —  it's  not  their  fault  —  do  make  their 
things  piggy:  so  one  can't  treat  everybody  in  exactly  the 
same  way.  This  little  book — I  think  it's  as  pretty  as 

58 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

could  be — is,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  designed  for  the 
young  lady  with  whom  I  saw  you  walking  yesterday. 
She  is  among  those  whom  I  am  about  to  prepare  for 
confirmation,  and  she  will,  of  course,  take  care  of  it. 
A  beautiful  nature  that,  unless  I  am  much  mistaken; 
though  I  gather  that  her  religious  education  has  been 
terribly  neglected  in  some  ways.  By-the-way,  let  me 
show  you  another  thing  which  I  got  for  her,  and  which 
I  think  will  help  her.  She  has  a  curious  natural  sym- 
pathy with  —  where  did  I  put  this,  now?  —  ah,  there, 
lying  open  on  the  little  table — a  curious  sympathy  with 
the  Catholic  conception  of  religion.  Here  the  book  is. 
It  is  called  The  Visions  of  the  Saints.  The  letter-press 
is  very  simple.  What  I  want  you  to  notice  are  the 
pictures.  These  modern  processes  —  aren't  they  per- 
fectly marvellous?  Did  you  ever  see  anything  more 
like  actual  miniatures?  That's  St.  Angela  of  Foligno, 
with  our  Lord  coming  to  her  through  the  rose-bushes. 
Isn't  the  little  robin  sweet?  Look  how  one  or  two  of 
its  little  red  feathers  are  rumpled.  That's  our  Lord 
giving  the  aromatic  gum  to  St.  Gertrude,  in  order  that 
her  breath  might  be  no  less  sweet  to  Him  than  her 
prayers.  That  one  again — I  should  like  you  to  examine 
that  through  a  magnifying-glass.  Our  Lord's  dress,  as 
He  kisses  St.  Sylvia's  hair — do  you  notice  the  gold  and 
the  red  lines  in  the  border?  You  can  see  that  the  gold 
line  is  a  piece  of  stiff  braid,  applique.  And  between  the 
folds  of  the  robe — do  you  make  out  what  that  is?  It's 
the  face  of  St.  Francis,  which  we  saw  painted  on  our 
Lord's  breast.  But  I  mustn't  bore  you  any  longer  with 
this.  Perhaps  you'd  like  to  take  a  look  round  my  crib." 
The  suggestion  being  accepted,  he  led  the  way  into  a 
smaller  room. 

"  Here,"  he  said,  "  is  my  inner  den — my  cell." 
The   floor  was   of  bare,   stained  boards.     The   only 
furniture  was  a  couple  of  hard  oak  chairs,  monastic  in 
pattern,  but  affecting  no  antiquity;  a  small  table  with  a 
stool  before  it,  apparently  used  for  kneeling;  and  a  desk 
5  59 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

supporting  a  rosary,  some  devotional  books,  and  a  man- 
uscript, the  window  which  lit  it  opening  on  a  neat  lit- 
tle patch  of  garden.  The  only  decoration  on  the  white- 
washed walls  was  a  crucifix,  the  figure  being  of  the 
cheapest  plaster. 

"  I  always  think,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  seeing  that  Sir 
Rawlin  noticed  it,  "that  there's  something  rather  jolly 
in  a  poor,  common  thing  like  that.  I  like  to  feel  that  I 
use  in  my  own  devotions  nothing  not  in  reach  of  the 
poorest.  I  allow  myself  an  old  Spanish  one — a  really 
fine  work  of  art — in  my  library.  Across  the  passage  is 
my  refectory.  Would  you  like  to  have  a  peep  at  that  ? 
Not  large,  is  it?  I  can  just  cram  in  three  people  at  a 
pinch.  Generally  there  is  only  one.  And  now,  if  you 
must  go,  good-bye.  As  soon  as  your  own  plans  are 
settled,  we  might  arrange  a  little  practical  work  together. 
I've  done  some  work,  both  as  a  canvasser  and  an  or- 
ganizer, in  more  than  one  election  already." 

As  soon  as  Mr.  Barton  was  alone  he  became  a  changed 
man.  The  expression  which  had  accompanied  his  use 
of  such  artificially  familiar  words  as  "  nice  "  and  "  sweet " 
and  "crib,"  or  of  "jolly,"  in  its  school-boy  sense,  alto- 
gether disappeared.  The  priest  came  out  in  his  face; 
the  receiver  of  calls  faded.  Returning  to  his  library 
with  eyes  absorbed  and  solemn,  he  sat  down  by  the 
writing-table,  his  chin  resting  heavily  on  his  hand. 

Mr.  Barton  possessed  one  of  those  aesthetic  and  emo- 
tional temperaments  which,  closely  connected  as  they 
are  with  the  higher  developments  of  sanctity,  are  known 
to  be  often  the  source  of  hopeless  and  unnamed  corrup- 
tion; but  from  such  a  result  he  was  saved  by  certain 
snows  of  the  spirit,  which  made  any  kind  of  corruption 
in  his  own  case  impossible ;  and  he  had  gone  through  life 
with  the  gait  of  an  untempted  Galahad. 

His  eyes  for  a  moment  rested  on  the  picture  of  the 
clear-faced  chorister — one  of  his  old  school  friends — and 
he  thought  of  the  November  walks  during  which,  on 
their  return  to  chapel,  they  had  seen  among  the  amethyst 

60 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

of  the  sunset  the  battlements  of  the  New  Jerusalem. 
Then  his  attention  strayed  to  the  photograph  of  the 
monument  of  his  mother — his  mother,  the  only  woman 
whose  kiss  he  had  ever  known,  and  through  whom  alone 
womanhood,  as  opposed  to  manhood,  had  ever  made  to 
him  any  distinct  appeal. 

Then  little  by  little  his  thoughts  took  a  new  direction. 
They  went  back  to  the  Sundays  of  last  Advent — the 
period  when,  in  connection  with  various  charities,  his 
acquaintance  with  Lady  Susannah  and  her  family  had 
first  ripened  into  intimacy.  It  was  then  that  he  ac- 
quired the  habit  of  walking  with  her  and  Miss  Arundel, 
after  morning  service  on  Sunday,  to  Cliff's  End  for  lunch- 
eon. Those  charming  Christian  women — the  sense  of  rest 
and  refreshment  they  produced  in  him  was  jarred  by 
nothing  but  the  presence  of  the  two  boys,  who  troubled 
him  at  moments  by  exciting  in  him  a  stir  of  impatient 
pity.  The  fields  and  the  orchards,  through  which  their 
Sunday  path  lay,  were  idyllic  for  him  with  gracious 
memories.  At  last  a  morning  had  come — it  was  the 
morning  of  Christmas  Day — when,  awaiting  him  at  the 
side  door,  together  with  his  two  accustomed  friends,  was 
a  third  figure  which  was  new  to  him — that  of  a  graceful 
girl,  dressed  with  a  delicacy  which  appealed  to  his  sense 
of  color — a  girl  in  whom  natural  vivacity  seemed  to  con- 
tend with  lassitude,  and  who  looked  at  him,  the  moment 
he  met  her,  with  instinctively  sympathetic  eyes.  They 
had  all  gone  back  together  through  the  fields,  to  eat  Lady 
Susannah's  turkey,  carrying  with  them  pleasant  rec- 
ollections of  arches  red  with  holly  -  berries.  And  this 
girl,  somewhat  to  his  surprise,  had  contentedly  walked 
beside  him,  as  though  it  were  a  privilege  to  listen  to  him, 
even  when  he  spoke  most  seriously.  After  luncheon,  at 
her  aunt's  request,  she  had  sung,  and  he  had  given  her, 
with  the  precision  of  an  expert,  a  few  friendly  hints  re- 
lating to  the  management  of  her  voice. 

His  intimacy  thenceforward  with  the  family  at  Cliff's 
End  had  ripened.  He  had  soon  begun  to  discuss  the 

61 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

girl  with  her  aunt,  and  had  been  deeply  touched  by  the 
little  which  he  was  able  to  gather  as  to  her  circumstances. 
"Her  father,"  Lady  Susannah  had  said — "she  isn't  my 
own  niece  really — was  in  old  days  a  great  friend  of  mine ; 
but  for  ever  so  many  years  he  has  been  obliged  to  live 
abroad,  and  I  have  not  seen  him  since  his  marriage.  This 
child  will  have  quite  a  fortune.  Her  rooms  have  been 
fitted  up  with  things  of  her  own  here,  which,  I  hope, 
means  that  I  may  be  allowed  to  keep  her  indefinitely. 
But  if  she  doesn't  get  stronger — or,  at  all  events,  if  there's 
a  serious  relapse — she's  to  be  sent  back  to  her  parents, 
and  I've  promised  to  take  in  her  sister — or  her  half- 
sister.  That  is  really  the  relationship.  There  is  some 
difficulty,  it  seems,  in  having  both  at  home  together.  I 
can't  tell  why,  still  I  have  my  suspicions.  Mr.  Barton," 
she  had  added,  with  a  somewhat  trembling  voice,  "this 
is  in  the  strictest  confidence — it  will  help  you  to  under- 
stand things  which  are  too  painful  to  be  dwelled  upon — 
I  can't  help  thinking  that  the  other  one  may  be  not 
legitimate.  Poor  child,  that's  not  her  fault,  if  it  is  so. 
But,  Mr.  Barton,  help  me  to  keep  Nest  here.  Encourage 
her  to  sing.  Anything  that  interests  her  is  good  for  her, 
so  long  as  it's  not  exciting.  And  then,  though  I  can  see 
that  she's  religious,  I  doubt  if  she's  had  much  instruction. 
She  told  me  she  hadn't  been  confirmed,  and  could  there- 
fore not  take  the  sacrament." 

Mr.  Barton  had  felt,  as  he  listened  to  this  account, 
that  his  own  first  impressions  with  regard  to  the  girl 
were  justified.  Her  eyes  had  at  once  appealed  to  him ; 
he  now  knew  the  reason  why.  They  were  eyes  looking 
for  something  which  they  had  not  yet  found.  The  world 
had  given  her  of  its  best,  but  the  world  could  not  give 
her  peace.  Here  was  a  lamb  bleating  for  the  pastures 
that  alone  could  satisfy,  and  the  Divine  Will  had  led  her 
to  him,  that  he  might  be  to  her  as  the  good  shepherd. 
He  had  accordingly,  at  first  with  a  distant  kindliness, 
won  the  confidence  which  she  was  not  slow  to  give  him 
by  advising  her  further  about  her  singing.  Finally, 

6a 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

with  much  tact,  he  had  approached  the  subject  of  con- 
firmation, and  the  response  he  met  with  went  to  his 
heart  at  once.  He  had  opened,  so  it  seemed  to  him,  a 
well  of  profound  emotion.  He  had  unsealed  a  sacred 
fountain.  And  this  emotion,  accompanied  as  it  was 
with  charms  and  graces  essentially  feminine,  and  to  him 
absolutely  novel,  had  soon  caused  him  to  regard  her 
with  an  almost  paternal  solicitude,  sharply  distinguished 
from  and  yet  not  wholly  incomparable  to  those  high  and 
equal  friendships  and  that  passion  of  filial  worship  which, 
apart  from  religious  fervor,  had  been  the  deepest  of  his 
past  experiences. 

His  formal  preparation,  both  of  her  and  his  other 
charges,  for  the  confirmation  was  not  to  begin  till  after 
his  return  from  London,  where  his  presence  would  be 
shortly  demanded  by  important  ecclesiastical  business; 
but  he  had  lent  her,  and  had  been  delighted  to  find  that 
she  read  with  interest  and  intelligence,  some  simple 
books  on  the  history  and  general  teaching  of  the  Church ; 
and  meanwhile  he  had  no  desire  to  hasten  matters.  In 
the  quiet  family  circle,  in  which  alone  he  knew  her,  he 
felt  that  she  was,  except  for  her  health,  safe.  He  found 
comfort  even  in  something  which  otherwise  at  times 
perplexed  him — a  maturity  in  her  bearing,  her  manner, 
her  social  judgments  incongruous  with  her  spiritual  sim- 
plicity, for  herein  he  discerned  a  security  for  her  against 
the  influence  of  her  boy  cousins.  Indeed,  he  had  often 
told  himself  that  she,  with  her  worldly  aplomb,  instead 
of  being  influenced  by  them,  would  laugh  them  out  of 
their  absurd  follies. 

All  this  was  passing  through  his  mind  now,  and,  as 
he  thought  of  her,  filled  him  with  a  new  accession  of 
tenderness.  Taking  up  the  little  manual  he  designed 
for  her,  he  touched  its  violet  binding  lightly  and  rever- 
ently with  his  lips.  "  Through  her,"  he  said  to  himself, 
"  it  has,  by  God's  grace,  been  given  to  me  to  see  better 
into  the  needs  of  all  childhood." 

This  reflection  was  still  filling  his  mind  when  his  maid 

63 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

appeared  at  the  door  and  informed  him  that  his  lunch 
was  ready. 

"Mrs.  Curtis  says,  sir,"  she  added,  "that,  according 
to  your  orders,  she  hasn't  sent  up  nothing  but  sardines; 
but  I  was  to  mention  that,  if  you  wished  it,  she  could  do 
you  a  nice  chop." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  laughing.  "A  sar- 
dine will  be  quite  enough";  and  before  betaking  him- 
self to  his  banquet  he  remained  for  a  few  moments  on 
his  knees. 


CHAPTER  VI 

AS  for  Sir  Rawlin,  he  too,  like  Mr.  Barton,  when  left 
to  himself  again,  became  a  different  man.  Having 
paid  a  mental  tribute  to  many  of  Mr.  Barton's  quali- 
ties, and  indeed  to  his  general  character,  which,  despite 
certain  trivial  mannerisms,  had  surprised,  interested, 
and  impressed  him,  he  became  a  prey  to  reflections  less 
agreeable  to  the  self-esteem  of  a  man  of  the  world,  a 
philosopher,  and  a  prospective  statesman.  Miss  Viv- 
ian's behavior  to  him  on  the  Drive  forced  itself  on  his 
thoughts  afresh,  and  caused  him  more  annoyance  than 
he  was  at  all  willing  to  recognize.  This  mere  child,  this 
companion  of  romping  school-girls,  this  future  member 
of  a  confirmation  class,  had  not  merely  presumed  to  re- 
duce him  to  the  condition  of  an  affronted  boy,  but  had 
shown  him  that  the  situation  which  he  had  resolved  so 
solemnly  to  avoid  was  actually  nothing  more  than  a 
ludicrous  imagination  of  his  own.  No  doubt  by  way  of 
compensation  she  had  removed  the  ground  of  his  self- 
reproaches — a  fact  for  which  he  found  himself  hardly 
so  grateful  as  he  might  have  been.  But  this  was  not 
enough.  Before  he  reached  his  hotel  he  had  determined 
that,  if  he  met  her  again,  he  would  with  the  utmost 
good-humor  put  her  in  her  proper  place,  and  that  her 
acquaintance  should  in  no  case  figure  among  the  inter- 
ests of  his  stay  in  Southquay. 

When  he  entered  the  hotel,  however,  her  image  was 
again  obtruded  on  him.  Lying  on  the  luncheon-table 
was  the  letter  from  Lady  Susannah,  which  Miss  Arundel 
had  mentioned  as  on  the  way  to  him.  It  consisted  of 

65 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

a  cordial  request  that  he  would  lunch  with  her  that  day 
week.  "So,  you  see,"  she  added,  "I  am  following  your 
advice  already,  and  I  hope  our  young  lady  will  benefit 
by  it.  I  shall  have  George  Carlton  with  me,  and  am 
asking  a  few  friends  also."  He  accepted  the  invitation 
with  a  pleasure  which  he  was  not  overcareful  to  analyze, 
and  he  was  meanwhile  so  absorbed  by  practical  busi- 
ness that  the  very  existence  of  Cliff's  End  and  its  in- 
mates was  as  often  as  not  forgotten  by  him. 

Thus  the  week  went  by  and  the  appointed  day  ar- 
rived. The  luncheon-hour  was  half-past  one ;  and  Lady 
Susannah,  some  twenty  minutes  earlier,  decorated  with 
a  locket  which  she  reserved  for  great  occasions,  was  alter- 
nately knitting  and  fidgeting  in  a  shabby  little  green 
boudoir,  when  she  heard  a  sharp  pull  being  given  to  the 
front-door  bell.  The  butler,  a  moment  later,  ushered  in 
Mr.  Barton. 

"Dear  Mr.  Barton,"  said  Lady  Susannah,  "how  good 
of  you  to  have  come  early,  as  I  asked  you!" 

"On  the  contrary,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  in  his  accent  of 
mundane  affability,  "it's  so  dear  of  you  to  have  bidden 
me  at  all." 

"  Sit  down,  please,"  said  Lady  Susannah,  as  she  snatch- 
ed rather  nervously  at  her  knitting.  "I  want  to  say  a 
word  or  two  to  you  about  my  niece,  Nest." 

Mr.  Barton's  drawing-room  smile  at  once  left  his  lips. 
His  face  became  grave  and  anxious. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "tell  me.     I  am  listening." 

"You  know,"  his  hostess  proceeded,  "how  easily 
things  upset  her — a  clap  of  thunder,  or  any  mental  ex- 
citement. Still,  on  the  whole — you  must  have  noticed 
this  yourself,  seeing  her  as  you  do  at  intervals — she  has 
for  the  last  month  or  so  been  steadily  getting  better, 
and  for  the  first  day  or  two  after  her  fright  in  the  hockey- 
field — that's  just  eight  days  ago — she  was  brighter  and 
stronger  than  I'd  ever  seen  her  before.  But  since  then 
she  has  somehow  or  other  gone  back  again.  She's  list- 
less, and  hardly  eats;  and  what  I  specially  wished  to 

66 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

tell  you  is  this:  I've  just  discovered  by  accident  that 
she's  taken  to  stealing  away  and  spending  hours  by  her- 
self in  your  church.  Now  I  myself  should  be  just  as 
sorry  as  you  would  to  do  anything  which  might  inter- 
fere with  her  healthy  religious  impulses;  but  you  know 
better  than  I  do  that  such  impulses  may  become  exag- 
gerated, and  I'm  sure,  from  a  doctor's  letter  which  her 
father  sent  me  when  she  came  here,  that  anything  of 
that  kind  would  in  her  case  be  most  injurious." 

"I  should  doubt."  said  Mr.  Barton,  dryly,  "whether 
doctors  were  specially  qualified  to  advise  candidates  for 
confirmation.  And  yet — well,  all  things  considered,  it 
is  possible,  quite  possible,  that  in  this  special  case  they 
may  be  right.  You  would  wish  me  to  speak  to  her, 
would  you?  I  will  do  so  gladly.  With  a  little  gentle- 
ness, I  am  sure  I  can  put  things  straight." 

"Dear  Mr.  Barton,"  said  Lady  Susannah,  "I'm  sure 
you  can.  May  I  tell  you  what  I  feel  myself?  For,  of 
course,  I  see  her  every  day.  My  own  feeling  is  that  be- 
sides physical  exercise,  like  the  hockey,  which  was  your 
suggestion,  we  ought  to  provide  her  with  some  healthy 
general  interests  —  some  society  beyond  that  of  her 
cousins." 

"Certainly,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  with  alacrity;  "there 
I  am  quite  at  one  with  you." 

"Well,"  resumed  Lady  Susannah,  "that's  one  of  the 
reasons  why  I'm  giving  my  little  party.  My  cousin, 
George  Carlton,  always  makes  things  amusing.  And 
Sir  Rawlin  is  coming,  too.  The  other  day  his  conversa- 
tion really  seemed  to  wake  Nest  up.  I  wish  in  South- 
quay  we'd  a  few  more  people  like  him." 

Mr.  Barton  smiled,  and,  resuming  his  mundane  man- 
ner, noiselessly  clapped  his  hands. 

"Hear!  hear!"  he  said.  "Sir  Rawlin  is  a  charming 
man.  A  man  of  his  age,  with  his  wide  knowledge  and 
experience,  is  precisely  the  kind  of  person  it  would  do 
your  niece  good  to  meet — certain  to  interest  without  any 
risk  of  exciting  her.  If  you'll  leave  me  to  speak  to  her — " 

67 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

But  his  speech  was  here  cut  short  by  the  quick  open- 
ing of  a  door,  and  Miss  Vivian  herself  was  before  them — 
pale  and  slim  and  silken  in  the  daintiest  of  Parisian 
blouses. 

"My  dearest  and  best  of  aunts,"  she  said,  "Nina  is 
dying  to  speak  to  you  about  the  flowers.  I  beg  your 
pardon.  Oh,  Mr.  Barton,  it's  you,  is  it?  I  very  much 
hope  I'm  not  interrupting  business." 

"I'll  come  this  moment,"  said  Lady  Susannah,  rising. 
"And  you,  my  dear,  meanwhile — will  you  stay  here  with 
Mr.  Barton  to  entertain  him?" 

Mr.  Barton's  temperament  gave  him  one  great  ad- 
vantage, in  respect  both  of  wisdom  and  dignity,  as  a 
spiritual  director  of  women.  Women,  though  their  com- 
pany was  congenial  to  him,  pleased  him  mainly  on  ac- 
count of  their  grace  and  sensitiveness,  and  appealed  to 
him  because  he  discerned  in  them  a  peculiar  need  for 
guidance.  He  could,  therefore,  treat  them  with  a  sym- 
pathy which  never  lapsed  into  sentiment,  and,  in  the 
special  feeling  which  Miss  Vivian  by  this  time  had  ex- 
cited in  him,  he  was  absolutely  unconscious  of  anything 
but  the  solicitude  of  a  jealous  parent. 

"  I've  been  much  concerned,"  he  began,  "  to  hear  from 
Lady  Susannah  that  you  have,  for  the  last  few  days,  not 
been  seeming  quite  so  vigorous  as  we  could  wish." 

"Fancy  my  aunt  speaking  to  you  about  my  absurd 
little  ups  and  downs,"  replied  the  girl,  with  a  languid 
laugh.  "  We  all  have  them.  But  don't  go  and  tell  me, 
I  entreat  you,  that  I'm  looking  like  an  invalid  to-day." 

"My  dear  child,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  gravely,  yet  with 
a  touch  of  subdued  playfulness,  "  I'm  not  a  medicine- 
man, so  I  won't  tell  you  anything  of  the  kind;  but  I  am 
anxious  to  say  a  word  or  two  to  you  personally,  which  I 
have  just  been  saying  about  you  to  your  aunt.  It  has 
come  to  my  knowledge,  though  I  have  not  seen  it  my- 
self, that  you  have  during  the  last  few  days  been  spend- 
ing many  hours  in  church.  You  won't  accuse  me  of 
wishing  to  discourage  religious  meditation,  but  what  I 

68 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

wish  to  say  to  you  is  this:  you  and  I  and  all  of  us  are 
essentially  immortal  souls,  and  these  bodies  of  ours  are 
merely  their  perishable  instruments.  Still,  so  long  as 
we  remain  on  God's  earth,  it  is  only  by  using  these  in- 
struments that  we  can  play  our  appointed  parts;  and 
if  they  show  signs  of  weakness  we  must  not  rashly  over- 
strain them,  even  in  our  ardor  to  work  for  divine  things. 
We  should  be  breaking  the  spades  that  God  has  given 
us,  instead  of  keeping  them  to  till  His  vineyard." 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Miss  Vivian,  looking  down  at  her 
bracelet,  "I  can  see  the  sense  of  that." 

"Well,"  Mr.  Barton  continued,  "as  I  was  just  now 
saying  to  your  aunt,  what  we  want  is  to  see  you  recover- 
ing the  equable  tone  and  cheerfulness  which  anybody  at 
your  age,  with  a  good,  clear  conscience,  ought  to  have; 
and  we  think — your  aunt  in  this  entirely  agrees  with 
me — that  what  would  be  good  for  you  is  not  physical 
recreation  only,  like  the  hockey,  but  the  stimulus  also 
of  a  little  pleasant  society.  I  think  we  might  venture 
to  say  a  little  social  distraction,  such,  for  instance,  as 
the  conversation,  which  would  take  you  out  of  yourself, 
of  your  aunt's  friend,  Sir  Rawlin  Stantor." 

"I'm  afraid,"  said  Miss  Vivian,  "that  a  man  so  ex- 
perienced as  Sir  Rawlin  will  not  want  to  add  to  his  ex- 
periences that  of  wasting  his  time  on  me.  Hark!  the 
door-bell.  They're  beginning  to  come  already.  I  must 
rush  up  to  my  room  to  finish  myself.  Mr.  Barton,  thank 
you  very  much.  I'm  apt  to  get  morbid,  and  then  I  go 
all  to  pieces.  You  sha'n't  see  me  do  that  at  luncheon 
to-day,  anyhow." 

Some  ten  minutes  after  this  conversation  had  ended 
Sir  Rawlin,  a  trifle  late,  was  entering  Lady  Susannah's 
hall,  and  a  sound  from  somewhere,  like  the  cawing  of  a 
small  rookery,  suggested  the  general  character  of  the 
company  he  was  about  to  meet.  Nearly  every  one,  as 
soon  as  he  found  himself  in  the  drawing-room,  seemed 
to  be  talking  with  an  odd  and  exaggerated  industry,  as 
though  bent  on  making  the  utmost  of  an  opportunity 

69 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

that  rarely  came.  The  hero  of  the  moment  appeared 
to  be  a  little  elderly  dandy  with  a  very  dark  wig  and  a 
feminine  note  in  his  voice,  who  was  delighting  a  circle 
near  the  fireplace  with  a  sort  of  dictatorial  facetiousness. 
His  hands  glistened  with  rings,  he  called  Lady  Susan- 
nah "Dear  thing,"  and  on  realizing  Sir  Rawlin's  presence 
skipped  forward  to  greet  him  with  a  gesture  of  elegant 
recognition. 

Sir  Rawlin  assured  himself,  by  appealing  to  Oswald 
Arundel,  that  this  was  Mr.  George  Carlton.  "  Mrs. 
Morriston  Campbell,"  the  boy  went  on,  confidentially, 
"  has  just  discovered  that  he  has  a  little  post  about  court, 
and  is  now  swallowing  his  witticisms  as  if  they  were  so 
much  manna.  Shall  I  tell  you  who  some  of  the  others 
are?  Those  two  ladies  talking  to  Mr.  Barton  are  the 
authoresses.  The  fresh-colored  parson  with  the  high, 
bald  forehead,  who  looks  pink  with  luncheon  before  he 
has  begun  to  eat,  is  Mr.  Robinson.  The  girl  in  the  cor- 
ner, with  crushed-strawberry  cheeks,  is  Elvira,  a  love  of 
Mr.  Hugo's,  who  goes  to  school  at  Miss  Aldritch's,  and 
that  monster  near  the  window — do  look  at  him — is 
Colonel  O' Brian,  her  father." 

Sir  Rawlin's  own  desire  was  rather  to  discover  Miss 
Vivian,  but,  failing  to  see  her  anywhere,  he  consented 
to  examine  the  Colonel.  Colonel  O'Brian,  though  the 
widowed  parent  of  seven  upstanding  daughters,  one  of 
whom  had  married  the  son  of  an  Irish  peer,  was  one  of 
the  most  striking  dancers  at  the  public  balls  of  South- 
quay.  With  his  flourishing  mustache  and  startling  Nor- 
folk jacket,  he  had  a  buoyant  air  of  conquest  over  every- 
thing fair  and  feminine;  and  he  was  plainly  engaged 
now  in  a  search  for  some  fitting  victim.  Sir  Rawlin's 
attention,  however,  was  presently  called  elsewhere  by 
Mr.  Carlton,  who  beset  him  with  good  wishes  for  his  suc- 
cess in  his  parliamentary  candidature,  and  who  went  on 
to  observe  delicately,  in  a  tone  of  shocked  distress,  that 
he  had  "always  thought  Radicalism  so  dreadfully  in- 
sincere and  selfish.  Why,"  he  said,  "can't  the  people 

70 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

keep  in  their  proper  places  and  leave  us  in  ours  ?  That's 
what  I  can't  make  out.  So  meddlesome,  and  so  unneces- 
sary." But  just  as  he  was  diverging  from  this  impor- 
tant question  to  compliment  Lady  Susannah  on  the 
stitch  of  a  piece  of  knitting,  Sir  Rawlin's  ear  was  caught 
by  a  light  laugh,  and,  turning  round,  he  perceived  that 
Miss  Vivian  was  at  last  present,  and  was  seemingly  hap- 
py in  the  toils  of  the  enterprising  Colonel.  The  Colonel's 
very  back  was  eloquent  of  enviable  success ;  and  he  was 
asking  her,  in  tones  indicative  of  a  mutual  understand- 
ing, how  it  was  that  he  had  never  met  her  at  any  of 
that  winter's  dances,  when  the  door  was  opened,  the 
announcement  of  luncheon  came,  and  a  movement  with- 
out formality  took  place  to  the  dining-room. 

The  guests,  whose  positions  at  the  table  were  marked 
out  for  them  by  their  names,  had,  while  Mr.  Robinson 
said  a  cheerful  grace  by  request,  settled  themselves  and 
unfolded  their  napkins,  before  Sir  Rawlin  discovered 
that  Miss  Vivian  was  seated  next  him.  In  the  drawing- 
room  he  had  merely  exchanged  with  her  a  perfunctory 
salute  from  a  distance,  and  now  she  was  again  monopo- 
lized by  the  Colonel,  who  was  her  other  neighbor.  To 
this  arrangement,  moreover,  she  herself  seemed  a  will- 
ing party,  for,  having  curtly  thanked  Sir  Rawlin,  who 
moved  to  give  her  more  room,  she  forthwith  turned 
away  from  him,  and  surrendered  herself  to  the  familiari- 
ties of  his  rival.  Such  behavior  exceeded  what  Sir 
Rawlin  had  thought  possible,  and  he  naturally  deter- 
mined to  pay  her  no  further  attention. 

Mr.  Barton,  who  was  seated  opposite,  noticed  Miss 
Vivian's  conduct,  and  noticed  it  with  surprised  anxiety. 
His  social  taste  was  superior  to  the  society  in  which  he 
had  been  brought  up.  Though  he  was  no  connoisseur 
in  flirtations,  the  demeanor  of  the  Colonel  shocked  him; 
and  Miss  Vivian's  conduct  in  tolerating,  still  more  in  en- 
couraging it,  annoyed  him  as  though  she  were  inflicting 
some  meaningless  disfigurement  on  herself.  When  he 
had  spoken  to  her  about  social  interests  he  had  not 


AN   IMMORTAL  SOUL 

thought  of  things  like  this.  Placed  at  a  distance  from 
her  though  he  was,  he  resolved  that  as  soon  as  possible 
he  would  do  her  the  salutary  service  of  disengaging  her 
attention  from  its  present  unworthy  object.  The  nat- 
ural turn  of  the  conversation  at  last  gave  him  his  op- 
portunity by  introducing  a  topic  which  was  quite  be- 
yond the  Colonel's  grasp. 

"We  have,"  said  Mr.  Robinson,  taking  advantage 
of  a  general  silence,  "been  talking  down  here  about 
churches.  Barton,  we'll  appeal  to  you.  You're  a  pun- 
dit in  such  matters.  What  should  you  say,  in  an  archi- 
tectural sense,  was  the  most  interesting  church  exist- 
ing?" 

Mr.  Barton  felt  at  once  that  Miss  Vivian's  eyes  were 
on  him.  "I  think,"  he  said,  judicially,  after  a  mo- 
ment's reflection,  "that,  if  we  put  aside  the  question  of 
size,  I  should  give  my  vote  to  St.  Ephraim's  of  the  Forty 
Pillars." 

Mr.  Robinson  put  his  hand  to  his  ear.  "I  didn't," 
he  said,  "quite  catch  the  name.  In  which  diocese  is 
that?" 

"It  was  built,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  "by  Guy,  Count  of 
Cilicia.  It  lies  forty-five  miles  northeast  of  Tarsus." 

Mr.  Robinson,  with  a  slight  grimace,  let  the  sacred 
subject  drop ;  and  another  was  forthwith  started  which 
seemed  of  more  poignant  interest.  This  was  the  cele- 
brated Lord  Cotswold,  diplomatist,  statesman,  and 
writer  on  scientific  philosophy,  not  wholly  disregarded 
by  those  even  who  called  him  a  charlatan,  but  at  one 
time  much  criticised  as  a  notoriously  irregular  husband. 
It  was  now  being  rumored  that  he  had  taken  a  house 
at  Southquay,  though  nobody  quite  knew  which,  and 
was  shortly  going  to  occupy  it  with  a  large  party  of 
friends.  Mrs.  Morriston  Campbell,  with  an  air  of  su- 
perior knowledge,  declared  that  Lord  Cotswold  was  of 
course  quite  out  of  society,  and  was  somewhat  taken 
aback  when  the  courtly  Mr.  George  Carlton,  in  a  voice 
which  arrested  everybody,  said  to  Lady  Susannah: 

72 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

"You  remember,  dear  Susie,  Lord  Cotswold  married 
a  cousin  of  ours — a  thoroughly  fourth  sort  of  cousin — 
and  treated  her  quite  too  abominably — went  off  with 
the  scullery-maid  or  the  mangling-maid — so  shocking — 
all  blue  and  soapsuds.  It  killed  poor  Maria  of  appen- 
dicitis twenty -five  years  afterward.  I  always  say  it 
was  through  Maria  that  appendicitis  came  into  our 
family." 

While  Lady  Susannah,  among  a  chorus  of  applausive 
titters,  was  gurgling,  "George,  George,  you  really — you 
really  mustn't.  Isn't  he  too  dreadful  ?"  Mr.  Barton  ob- 
served that  Miss  Vivian  was  studying  her  empty  plate 
and  quite  ignoring  the  Colonel,  who  was  saying  to  her, 
with  confidential  knowingness: 

"Hush!  you  and  I  mustn't  talk  about  Lord  Cots- 
wold.  He's  a  very  fie-fie  gentleman — very  hoity-toity, 
too.  I  met  his  lordship  at  dinner  once  at  the  Viceregal 
at  Dublin." 

This  last  observation  was  so  obviously  meant  to  be 
public  that  Mr.  Barton  lost  no  time  in  replying  to  it. 

"Who,"  he  said,  "may  I  ask  you,  was  lord-lieuten- 
ant then?  I,  too,  am  a  native  of  the  distressful  country 
myself." 

The  Colonel  was  delighted  to  answer;  and  Miss  Viv- 
ian, as  Mr.  Barton  noticed,  relapsed  once  more  into  a 
seemingly  apathetic  silence. 

Suddenly  Sir  Rawlin  was  conscious  that  a  low  voice, 
which  might  have  been  addressed  to  the  table-cloth, 
was  saying,  close  beside  him: 

"Why  have  you  never  been  to  see  me — I  mean  us — 
again?" 

He  started  and  turned  toward  her,  but  his  eyes  met 
only  a  pale  and  half-averted  cheek. 

"See  you!"  he  repeated.  "Why,  you  surely  can't 
have  forgotten  it.  I  did  see  you.  I  saw  you  with  ex- 
treme plainness,  on  the  very  morning  after  the  day  on 
which  I  first  met  you." 

"You  saw  me!"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  momentary 

73 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

glance  at  him  through  her  eyelashes.  "You  saw  me? 
When — where  ?" 

"On  the  New  Drive,"  he  answered,  "when  I  was 
walking  by  with  a  friend.  I  was  longing  to  stop  and 
talk  with  you,  but  you  wouldn't  even  shake  hands  with 
me.  You  looked  me  up  and  down,  and  simply  refused 
to  speak." 

A  light  seemed  to  be  dawning  on  her.  "Are  you  tell- 
ing me  the  truth?"  she  asked,  in  a  tone  which  was  still 
doubtful,  but  from  which  the  reserve  was  melting. 
"That  must  have  been  the  day  when  I  tired  myself 
running  uphill  and  went  half  to  sleep  at  the  top — Nina 
says — for  a  minute  or  two.  It's  all  my  tiresome  nerves. 
In  the  mist — do  you  remember? — you  saw  what  a  fool 
they  made  of  me.  You  weren't  angry  with  me  then. 
I  wonder  if  you  feel  that  you  are  going  to  forgive  me 
now?" 

She  did  not  look  at  him  as  she  spoke,  but,  at  a  very 
slight  angle,  her  head  had  been  inclined  toward  him,  as 
though  she  were  waiting  for  him  to  confess  to  her  in 
some  faint  accent  audible  to  herself  alone. 

"There  is  nothing  to  forgive,"  he  said,  seemingly  ab- 
sorbed in  his  bread  crumbs;  "but  even  if  there  were,  I 
should  forgive  you." 

No  ordinary  observer  would  have  imagined  that  they 
had  exchanged  a  word. 

Presently  Sir  Rawlin's  arm  was  aware  of  a  hand  laid 
on  it,  whose  momentary  contact  was  charged  with  ap- 
peal and  intimacy,  and  a  voice  which  seemed  whisper- 
ing a  confidence  to  him  was  saying:  "I  want  some 
water."  They  looked  into  each  other's  eyes,  as  though 
they  had  planned  a  meeting.  They  were  once  more  all 
they  had  been  on  the  day  on  which  they  had  first  met. 

Mr.  Barton,  meanwhile,  having  perceived  in  a  gen- 
eral way  that  Sir  Rawlin  at  last  had  supplanted  the  ob- 
jectionable Colonel,  had  contentedly  turned  his  atten- 
tion in  other  directions,  and  might  hardly  have  been 
tempted  to  observe  Miss  Vivian  again  if  Mr.  Robinson, 

74 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

in  a  voice  expressing  broadness  of  mind,  had  not  re- 
ferred to  the  newly  found  Southquay  mammoth,  for  the 
purpose  of  a  lecture  on  whose  remains  Mr.  Barton  had 
refused  his  hall.  Hereupon  Oswald  Arundel,  with  an 
excellent  imitation  of  guilelessness,  took  occasion  to  ob- 
serve that  the  cavern  in  which  the  bones  had  been 
found  must  be  directly  under  the  foundations  of  Mr. 
Barton's  own  abode. 

"Did  you  ever  yourself  see,"  he  added,  "one  of  these 
monstrous  skeletons  complete?" 

Mr.  Barton  turned  on  him  with  the  sharpness  of  a 
sarcastic  school-master  who  unfortunately  was  without 
a  berth. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  I  never  did.  But  I  once  saw  a  giraffe. 
That  was  quite  big  enough  for  me." 

The  boy,  with  a  covert  smile,  glanced  in  the  direction 
of  Miss  Vivian.  Mr.  Barton  glanced  anxiously  in  the 
same  direction  also,  to  assure  himself  that  she  gave  no 
signs  of  sympathy  with  her  profane  cousin.  He  saw  in 
her  no  signs  of  consciousness  that  her  cousin  existed, 
but  he  saw  in  her  something  else  which  consigned  mam- 
moths to  oblivion.  The  almost  ostentatious  levity 
which  had  distressed  him  in  her  conversation  with 
Colonel  O'Brian  was  gone,  but  there  was  something  in 
her  demeanor  now  which  disturbed  him  far  more  deeply. 
What  it  was  he  did  not  know,  but  he  felt  his  back  turn 
cold,  and  somewhere  or  other  over  his  skin  ran  little 
trickles  of  perspiration.  With  ears  preternaturally  sharp- 
ened, he  could  catch  more  or  less  what  it  was  that  Sir 
Rawlin  was  saying  to  her.  Sir  Rawlin's  manner  was 
precisely  what  he  was  sure  it  would  be — the  manner  of 
an  experienced  man  who  was  entertaining  a  clever  child. 
Their  topics,  moreover,  so  he  gathered,  were  common- 
place, even  trifling.  But  why,  this  being  so,  did  she  lis- 
ten with  such  strange  attention?  She  rarely  looked  at 
her  companion,  but  her  cheek  was  still  slightly  inclined 
toward  him,  as  though  messages  were  reaching  her  ears 
fraught  with  clandestine  meanings,  and  withdrawing 

«  75 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

her  into  some  world  beyond  Mr.  Barton's  reach.  Once, 
indeed,  she  caught  his  eyes  and  smiled  at  him,  but  the 
smile  seemed  to  reach  him  across  some  intervening 
water,  as  though  she  were  a  passenger  leaning  on  the 
bulwarks  of  a  ship,  which  already,  with  her  own  con- 
sent, was  carrying  her  away  forever  from  him.  For  the 
rest  of  the  meal  he  was  almost  completely  silent;  and 
afterward,  having  managed  to  outstay  all  the  rest  of  the 
company,  he  said  to  her,  in  a  manner  so  constrained  that 
she  hardly  recognized  it  as  his  own: 

"Will  you  take  a  turn  with  me  out-of-doors?  I  have 
something  more  to  say  to  you." 

With  a  docile  gravity  the  girl  acquiesced  at  once. 
She  seemed  willing  at  that  moment  to  do  anything  that 
would  please  anybody. 

"Would  you  like,"  she  said,  "to  wait  for  me  at  the 
garden  door?  I'll  run  up  and  put  my  things  on,  and 
be  down  in  a  few  minutes." 


CHAPTER  VII 

MR.  BARTON,  pacing  the  path  on  which  the  garden 
door  opened,  was  too  much  absorbed  in  his  thoughts 
to  be  impatient  because  he  was  kept  waiting.  Less  than 
an  hour  ago  he  had  felt  that  this  spiritual  child  of  his 
was  nearer  to  himself  than  to  any  other  human  being — 
that  all  her  deepest  aspirations  had  submitted  them- 
selves to  his  quiet  guidance.  She  now  seemed  so  far  off 
that  he  doubted  whether  his  cry  could  reach  her.  What 
had  produced  the  change?  What  reasonable  explana- 
tion could  he  give  of  it  ?  It  never  occurred  to  him  for  a 
moment  to  regard  Sir  Rawlin  Stantor  as  having,  in  any 
personal  sense,  come  between  him  and  her.  The  dis- 
turbing factor  was  not  Sir  Rawlin  himself,  but  some 
mysterious  order  of  interests  which  he  suggested  to  the 
girl's  nature,  and  which  exhibited  that  nature  under  new 
and  alien  aspects.  Mr.  Barton  was  still  struggling  with 
these  reflections,  which  inflicted  on  him  a  pang  of  baf- 
fling spiritual  jealousy,  when  the  sound  of  a  door  roused 
him,  and,  turning  round  in  his  walk,  he  saw  her  on  the 
path  awaiting  him. 

Her  aspect  added  to  his  trouble.  She  was  transfig- 
ured from  head  to  foot  by  a  walking-dress  and  by  gray- 
blue  furs.  All  trace  of  the  lassitude  which  he  had  no- 
ticed in  her  before  luncheon  had  gone  from  her.  In 
every  poise  and  movement  of  her  body  was  a  certain 
elusive  lightness  which  suggested  a  challenge  to  life,  a 
provocation  to  its  delaying  secrets.  Her  arched  feet 
seemed  somehow  to  be  coquetting  with  the  very  ground 
she  walked  on.  He  perceived,  however,  as  he  drew  near 

77 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

her,  that  a  soft,  expectant  seriousness  rose  into  her  eyes 
to  greet  him. 

"At  last,"  he  said,  attempting  to  make  his  voice  con- 
ventional— "at  last  I  can  talk  again  to  you." 

The  girl  stared  at  him,  as  though  the  pain  in  his  face 
was  a  riddle  to  her. 

"  Have  I,"  she  said, "  been  so  very,  very  long  ?  I  couldn't 
get  at  my  maid;  but  as  soon  as  she  came  I  raced.  I'm 
very,  very  sorry.  Mr.  Barton,  are  you  angry  with  me  ?" 

"Angry!"  said  Mr.  Barton.  "If  I'm  angry  with  any- 
body, it's  with  myself.  I  hope  those  smart  boots  of 
yours  are  thick  enough  for  a  rough  walk.  Let  us  go 
by  the  cliffs.  We  shall  be  alone  there." 

There  was  a  brusque  authority  in  his  voice  which 
startled  but  did  not  displease  her.  She  liked  it  incom- 
parably better  than  his  tone  when  he  talked  about  a 
"medicine-man."  She  went  with  him  in  obedient  si- 
lence, wondering  what  was  about  to  happen.  He  did 
not  speak  till  they  had  left  the  garden  behind  them  and 
had  gone  some  way  on  the  unfrequented  path  beyond. 

At  length  he  began  in  a  hoarse,  ill-modulated  under- 
tone. "I  have,"  he  said,  "been  haunted  for  the  last 
two  hours  by  a  feeling  that,  when  I  talked  to  you  be- 
fore luncheon,  I  may  have  led  you  to  mistake  my 
meaning.  Will  you  bear  with  me  if,  in  all  friendship, 
I  try  to  explain  myself  a  little  better?" 

"  Please  do,"  said  the  girl,  gently.  "  I  am  always  very 
anxious  to  listen  to  you." 

"Perhaps,"  he  resumed,  in  a  voice  more  nearly  nor- 
mal, "I  could  make  what  I  mean  clearer  if  you'd  let 
me  tell  you  what  I  take  to  be  your  own  peculiar  gifts 
and  responsibilities — great  responsibilities — gifts  so  pre- 
cious and  beautiful.  Will  you  allow  me  to  do  that?" 

Miss  Vivian  nodded  permission.  The  request  was  of 
a  kind  which  women  do  not  often  refuse. 

"Well,  then,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  "if  you  won't  mind 
my  starting  with  one  or  two  very  trite  observations,  the 
composite  nature  of  each  of  us,  to  speak  roughly,  has 

78 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

three  parts.  In  the  first  place,  we  have  those  surface 
qualities  which  come  out  in  the  give-and-take  of  our 
common  daily  intercourse.  Then  under  these  come 
those  deeper  gifts  of  the  mind  and  heart  which  relate 
to  artistic  beauty,  to  the  world  of  human  knowledge, 
and  to  the  ordinary  human  affections.  And,  lastly,  at 
the  root  of  all,  comes  that  part  of  us  in  virtue  of  which 
we  turn  to  God.  All  these  parts  of  us  are  essential  to 
us  in  our  present  life;  but  the  first  and  the  second  are 
good  only  in  proportion  as  they  minister  to  the  third. 
In  a  general  way  all  this,  of  course,  is  obvious.  And 
now,  shall  I  go  on  to  your  own  case  in  particular?  As 
to  your  surface  qualities,"  he  continued,  "  I  need  not  say 
that  you've  a  charm  and  a  temper  which  make  the  sur- 
face virtues  easy  to  you.  What  I  want  to  bring  home 
to  you  is — and  you  must  allow  me  to  speak  quite  plain- 
ly— that  you  are  endowed  to  a  degree  still  rarer  with 
those  mental,  artistic,  and  emotional  qualities  also,  of 
which  I  was  just  now  speaking.  To  all  that  appeal 
which  beauty  makes  to  us  through  our  human  senses 
you  are  far  more  sensitive  than  most  women,  though 
very  likely  you  may  not  know  this." 

Mr.  Barton  glanced  anxiously  at  his  companion,  to 
see  how  his  words  affected  her.  Her  face  was  averted, 
but  a  flush  was  visible  on  her  cheek,  and,  he  thought,  a 
trace  of  moisture. 

"You  read  Shelley,"  he  went  on.  "You  remember 
how  Shelley  describes  the  love  of  one  poor  human  soul 
for  another.  'The  desire  of  the  moth  for  the  star' — 
that  was  what  Shelley  called  it,  and  all  our  deepest  and 
highest  feelings  for  beauty  are  desires  of  the  same  kind. 
All  the  fair  things  of  this  fair  world  of  the  senses — even 
its  ideal  affections — make  their  deepest  appeal  to  us  by 
awakening  some  desire  which  they  themselves  cannot 
satisfy,  but  which  carries  us  upward  and  onward  to  a 
far-off  star  beyond." 

The  girl  turned  to  him  with  a  quick,  comprehending 
smile.  "I  will  quote  Shelley,  too,"  she  said. 

79 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

" '  Wouldst  thou  me  ?'     And  I  replied, 
'  No,  not  thee." " 


"You  have,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  "penetrated  to  the 
very  heart  of  my  meaning.  Well,  that  being  so,  I  can 
easily  make  you  understand  the  kind  of  advice  which  I 
wanted  to  give  you  before  luncheon.  Instead  of  dis- 
tressing your  nerves,  as  I  think  you  may  have  been 
tempted  to  do  by  brooding  too  much  over  what  separated 
you  from  the  Divine  Nature,  I  was  advising  you  for  the 
moment  to  exercise  those  natural  faculties  which,  if 
exercised  rightly,  unite  you  to  it :  for  God  is  the  Supreme 
Beauty  and  the  Supreme  Intellect,  as  well  as  the  Supreme 
Holiness.  Enjoy  friendships  and  interesting  pursuits  and 
beauty;  but  enjoy  them  only  because,  and  only  in  so  far 
as,  each  of  them  carries  you  onward  to  a  something  be- 
yond itself — to  that  power,  that  purity,  that  love,  of 
which  it  is  the  symbol  or  the  faint  reflection,  and  to 
which,  under  God,  it  is  my  great  desire  to  guide  you." 

"I  understand  you,"  said  Miss  Vivian.  "I  under- 
stand every  word.  I'm  only  afraid  you  flatter  me  too 
highly." 

"If,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  quickly,  "you  think  I  am  in- 
clined to  flatter  you,  you  must  give  me  the  benefit  of 
your  misconception,  and  not  think  me  captious  or  unfair 
if  I  venture  on  a  word  of  criticism.  At  luncheon  to-day, 
sitting  opposite  to  you  as  I  was,  I  could  not  help  from 
time  to  time  observing  you,  and  it  seemed  to  me — I'm 
thinking,  of  course,  only  of  the  earlier  part  of  the  time — 
I  don't  refer  to  the  latter."  Mr.  Barton  here  exhibit- 
ed some  signs  of  hesitation.  "I  mean,"  he  proceeded, 
"the  time  when  you  seemed,  if  you'll  let  me  say  so,  to  be 
paying  an  attention  to  somebody  which  was  dispropor- 
tionate to  the  merits  of  his  conversation.  You  were 
hardly  doing  justice  on  that  occasion  either  to  yourself 
or  to  my  advice  to  you." 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  Miss  Vivian,  gravely,  but  with  an 
air  of  considerable  relief,  "that  you  noticed  a  silly  thing 

80 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

like  that;  but  I  had  to  talk  to  the  man,  and  I  couldn't 
help  drawing  him  out  a  little.  All  the  same,  you  are 
quite  right ;  and  you  are  kind  in  having  found  fault  with 
me." 

"My  dear  child,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  "your  extraor- 
dinary quickness  in  appreciating  shades  of  meaning 
makes  it  easy  to  talk  to  you.  If  what  you  did  had  been 
done  by  many  other  girls,  I  should  probably  not  have 
noticed  it;  but  you  have  exceptional  gifts,  and  these 
bring  with  them  exceptional  responsibilities — especially 
at  this  time  when  you  are,  of  your  own  free-will,  about 
to  prepare  yourself  for  the  reception  of  a  great  sacra- 
ment. And  that  reminds  me.  Before  I  begin  my  reg- 
ular talks  about  confirmation,  which  I  hope  to  do  as 
soon  as  I  return  from  London,  may  I  ask  you  to  read 
the  little  manual  which  I  sent  you  some  days  ago  ?  I  am 
glad  that  you  liked  the  binding.  I  am  glad  also  that  the 
Visions  of  the  Saints  pleased  you." 

"Oh,"  exclaimed  the  girl,  "that  is  beautiful!  I've 
not  thanked  you  half  enough  for  it.  I  look  at  it  every 
morning.  All  the  faces  in  it — do  you  remember  the 
martyrs  in  paradise  with  their  eyes  fixed  on  the  Lamb? 
— seem  to  be  full  of  that  very  longing  for  the  beyond 
which  you  were  speaking  about  just  now.  It's  like 
nothing  else  in  the  world." 

Mr.  Barton,  instead  of  making  any  immediate  reply, 
began  putting  his  hand  into  one  of  his  great-coat  pockets. 

"I  want  you,"  he  said,  at  length,  "in  addition  to  that 
book,  to  let  me  add  another,  not  so  ornamental,  but  still, 
I  hope,  it  may  be  useful  to  you.  It's  a  very  little  book 
indeed,  written  or  compiled  by  myself.  I  only  got  it 
this  morning,  and  I  brought  it  with  me,  meaning  to  give 
it  to  you.  Will  you  take  it  ?  You  can  carry  it  in  your 
muff." 

"How  good  of  you!"  said  Miss  Vivian,  simply.  "Yes, 
you  see  my  muff  will  hold  it." 

"May  the  reading  of  that  book,"  said  Mr.  Barton, 
gravely,  "be  blessed  to  you.  It  is  not  a  book  for  all. 

8z 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

But  I  haven't  quite  done  yet.  I  should  like  to  offer  you 
one  little  gift  more.  We  were  talking  just  now  about 
the  senses.  Let  us  take  the  sense  of  hearing.  You, 
being  musical,  know  that  there  are  musics  of  many 
kinds,  some  of  which  secularize  the  emotions,  while 
others  sanctify  them.  With  all  the  things  of  sense  the 
case  is  much  the  same.  Take  smells,  for  instance.  To 
me  the  smell  of  wall-flowers  always  brings  back  my  child- 
hood and  the  mother  at  whose  knees  I  said  the  first 
prayers  I  can  remember.  Another  case  in  point  is  the 
peculiar  smell  of  incense.  That  smell,  as  a  matter  of 
general  experience,  has,  though  we  can't  tell  why,  a 
special  religious  suggestiveness." 

"How  true  that  is!"  said  Miss  Vivian.  "The  smell 
of  incense  touches  one  like  an  organ." 

"I  have,"  Mr.  Barton  went  on,  "found,  when  the 
worries  of  business  made  it  difficult  for  me  to  turn  my 
mind  to  prayer,  or  to  the  writing  of  a  sermon,  that  the 
burning  of  a  few  grains  of  incense  was  very  effective  in 
surrounding  me  with  the  required  atmosphere.  I  have, 
therefore,  besides  the  book,  brought  this  packet  of  in- 
cense for  you,  which  you  might  use  in  the  same  way. 
There,  take  it.  It  will  go  into  your  muff,  too.  It  has 
been  formally  blessed  in  the  manner  enjoined  by  our 
ancient  Church,  so  treat  it  reverently.  Don't  burn  it 
for  fun.  Try  it,  and  if  it  doesn't  help  you,  send  me 
back  what  remains  of  it.  And  now,"  said  Mr.  Barton, 
suddenly  stopping  short  and  facing  her,  "  I  must  take 
you  no  farther.  I  have  much  to  do,  and  I  leave  to-night 
for  London.  Let  us  turn.  I'll  come  with  you  as  far  as 
the  field-path  which  will  take  me  home  over  the  hill." 

Both  of  them  silent,  they  began  to  retrace  their  steps. 
Miss  Vivian,  with  a  pensive  smile,  readjusted  the  pack- 
ages in  her  muff.  Mr.  Barton's  lifted  eyes  were  fixed 
intently  on  the  sky.  At  last,  without  turning  to  her, 
he  spoke. 

"  When  I  am  alone,"  he  said,  "  in  the  bare  room  which 
I  shall  occupy,  I  shall  always  think  of  you  and  pray  for 

82 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

you.  When  we  go  to  meet  God  through  death,  we  go 
to  meet  Him  alone.  When  we  go  to  meet  Him  in  life, 
we  must  each  of  us  go  alone  also ;  but  we  are  not  alone, 
even  in  the  human  sense,  if  another  soul,  whom  we  have 
helped,  is  going  on  the  same  journey.  And  now,  here 
is  my  path.  Here  we  must  say  good-bye.  In  a  fort- 
night's time,  or  less,  I  hope  to  be  back  again ;  and  mean- 
while you'll  remember,  will  you,  what  I've  been  trying 
to  say  to-day?  Whatever  you  may  find  beautiful,  in- 
teresting, pleasure-giving  in  the  life  around  you — in 
things,  in  men,  in  women — let  your  heart  fix  itself  on 
such  of  these  things  only  as  do  not  hinder  it  from  giving 
itself  to  that  Heart  of  Hearts,  in  the  love  of  which  we 
both  may  share,  and  in  which  nothing  can  come  between 
us.  My  child,  good-bye,  good-bye.  You'll  give  me  your 
hand,  won't  you,  in  token  that  you  recognize  me  as  a 
friend?" 

For  the  girl,  this  last  request,  natural  and  inevitable 
as  it  was,  had  in  it  something  of  a  faintly  unwelcome  in- 
congruity; but,  ashamed  of  a  lurking  wish  to  avoid  the 
parting  ceremony,  she  complied  with  a  frank,  almost 
with  a  tender,  grace;  and  the  look  which  he  cast  back 
at  her,  as  he  took  the  path  up  the  hill-side,  was  grave 
with  a  grateful  happiness. 

As  for  her,  her  face  which,  during  the  walk,  had  been 
that  of  one  in  contact  with  some  being  of  a  different 
order,  relaxed  its  expression  somewhat  as  soon  as  she 
found  herself  alone;  and  presently,  hearing  her  cousins' 
voices  in  the  garden,  she  lingered  for  some  minutes  on 
the  cliff  till  the  sounds  had  died  away,  and  then  stole 
back  to  the  house,  where  she  hid  herself  in  her  own 
sitting-room. 

Relatively  to  the  means  that  had  been  available  for 
gratifying  the  girl's  taste,  it  was  not  a  room  that  ex- 
hibited any  very  great  extravagance;  but  it  formed  a 
curious  contrast  to  Lady  Susannah's  threadbare  boudoir. 
Delicate  gilt  brackets  with  china  on  them,  and  land- 
scapes in  which  stone-pines,  villas,  palms,  and  olives 

83 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

shone  green  and  white  and  gray  against  blue  Mediter- 
ranean backgrounds,  gave  a  gay  aspect  to  the  surfaces 
of  the  pale  silk-like  wall-paper.  The  large  bow-window 
was  enlivened  with  flowered  chintz  curtains ;  and  chintz- 
covered  chairs  matching  them  were  thrown  into  pleasant 
relief  by  the  pile  of  soft  red  carpet.  Books  delicately 
bound  stood  in  small  cases  on  the  tables.  A  chair  shap- 
ed like  a  prie-dieu  secluded  itself  in  one  corner.  In  an- 
other a  half-finished  water-color  displayed  itself  con- 
spicuously on  an  easel;  and  on  a  stool  in  the  window 
were  some  drawing-blocks  and  an  artist's  case  of  colors. 

From  her  muff,  which  she  tossed  aside,  she  produced 
Mr.  Barton's  packages.  The  incense  —  it  had  been 
placed  in  a  tin  box  made  for  lozenges — claimed  her  at- 
tention first.  Having  deposited  an  ember  of  wood  in  a 
brass  saucer  that  was  on  the  chimney-piece,  she  sprinkled 
the  red  glow  with  a  few  grains  of  the  compound.  A 
faint  fragrance  rose  from  it,  which  she  sniffed  like  a 
child  experimenting  with  a  new  toy.  Then,  as  if  satis- 
fied with  the  result,  she  seated  herself  near  the  window 
and  turned  to  Mr.  Barton's  book.  It  was  a  small,  slim 
volume  bound  in  leather  that  smelled  of  cedar.  The 
title  of  it  was  The  Secret  Way.  She  opened  it  at  random, 
and  the  first  passage  on  which  her  eyes  lit  startled  her. 

She  had  several  times  during  her  late  walk  with  Mr. 
Barton  sought  relief  for  her  feelings  by  looking  away 
from  him  at  the  sea.  The  sea  had  been  blue  and  shin- 
ing. Her  eyes  had  rested  themselves  on  the  sails  whose 
whiteness  was  going  down  where  the  two  firmaments 
touched  each  other;  and  her  mind  had  been  filled  with 
something  of  that  saddening  yet  pleasurable  exultation 
which,  in  most  sensitive  natures,  is  produced  by  the 
same  spectacle.  The  words  in  Mr.  Barton's  book  at 
which  the  pages  opened  were  these: 

"This  expanse  of  waves  lying  against  the  far-off  sky,  and 
those  ships  with  their  dying  sails,  trouble  us  who  watch  them 
with  a  vague  feeling  that  they  are  beautiful.  But  in  what  does 
this  beauty  consist  ?  It  does  not  consist  in  mere  water,  or  mere 

84 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

light,  or  mere  squares  and  triangles  of  canvas,  or  even  in  all 
three  combined.  It  consists  in  a  suggestion  to  the  soul,  not  in 
impressions  on  the  senses.  Our  souls,  stirred  by  the  imagina- 
tion, long  to  follow  those  ships;  for  to  us  it  seems  that  they  are 
going  to  some  better  country — to  some  land  of  the  heart's  desire. 
But  in  the  lands  where  the  journeys  of  these  ships  end  the 
heart  is  not  satisfied.  Sorrow  will  come  down  and  meet  them  as 
soon  as  they  touch  the  quays.  So  it  is  with  all  the  fair  things 
of  nature.  They  awake  in  us  a  hunger  which  they  themselves 
cannot  satisfy.  What,  then,  can  satisfy  it  ?  As  Augustine  says, 
'  He  only,  by  whom  all  these  things  were  made.'" 

Miss  Vivian  turned  the  page,  and  the  same  train  of 
thought  repeated  itself: 

"My  heart  spoke  to  my  heart,  and  said  to  it,  '  What  desirest 
thou?'  At  dawn  in  the  garden  I  desire  the  scented  rose  of  the 
earth.  In  the  evening  I  desire  the  shining  rose  of  the  sky.  My 
heart,  thou  dost  not  contemplate  these  things  in  vain,  but  thou 
dost  desire  them  in  vain;  for  all  these  things  are  without  thee, 
and  can  never  be  thine.  Rather  desire  that  which  is  in  them 
and  in  thee  also.  This  will  not  leave  thee  hungering.  This  will 
enthrall  and  fill  thee,  till  thou  sayest, '  Spouse  of  my  soul,  I  faint; 
I  can  endure  no  more.'" 

The  book  dropped  from  her  hands.  Outside  a  flush 
was  beginning  to  mantle  in  the  west.  Across  a  reach  of 
water  a  promontory  with  houses  and  a  few  lights  on  it 
was  turning  into  a  blur  of  purple;  and  the  evening  was 
opening  up  its  faint,  illimitable  distances.  She  rose, 
went  again  to  the  fireplace,  reopened  the  bag  of  incense, 
and  repeated  her  former  experiment  on  a  bolder  and 
larger  scale.  A  blue  smoke  shot  up  from  the  glowing 
embers  copiously.  She  lifted  the  brass  saucer,  and,  wav- 
ing it  to  and  fro,  soon  felt  herself  to  be  inhaling  the  odor 
of  all  sanctuaries.  Yielding  to  its  subtle  spell,  she  turned 
almost  involuntarily  to  her  prie-dieu.  The  fur  of  her 
hat,  as  she  knelt  with  her  head  bent  forward,  almost 
touched  her  folded  hands;  and  between  her  gloves  and 
her  hat,  together  with  the  smell  of  the  incense,  stole 
visions  of  lighted  chancels  and  mute  women  emerging 

85 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

from  brown  confessionals;  and  at  last,  mixed  with  the 
incense  mist,  a  mist  of  another  kind  came  to  her  closed 
eyelids  from  the  gorse  bushes  on  a  high  hill.  "My  heart 
spoke  to  my  heart,"  she  murmured,  "and  it  said  to  me, 
'What  desirest  thou?"1 

Half  an  hour  later  she  had  descended  to  the  school- 
room tea.  Her  cousins  for  some  days  had  not  seen  her 
in  such  high  spirits;  and  when  Oswald  proposed  again 
to  minister  at  the  cat's  altar,  she  contented  herself  with 
seizing  a  book  and  lightly  boxing  his  ears. 


BOOK    II 


CHAPTER  I 

IF  the  sequel  to  the  luncheon-party  had  been  satis- 
factory to  Mr.  Barton,  the  close  of  that  function  it- 
self had  been  not  less  so  to  Sir  Rawlin.  The  healing  of 
the  wound  which  Miss  Vivian  had  unintentionally  in- 
flicted on  his  vanity  had  healed  at  the  same  time  the 
disquiet  of  his  conscience  also;  and  in  order  to  render 
his  peace  of  mind  more  absolute,  he  had  been  careful  to 
check  any  undue  expectations  on  her  part  by  letting 
her  know  that,  since  he  had  decided  on  contesting  the 
constituency,  some  time  would  elapse  before  his  many 
engagements  would  allow  him  to  look  forward  to  the 
pleasure  of  visiting  Cliff's  End  again.  Indeed,  these 
preoccupations  proved  quite  engrossing  enough  to  rele- 
gate even  the  thought  of  her  to  the  background  of  the 
candidate's  mind.  It  remained  with  him,  nevertheless, 
like  a  rose  worn  in  his  buttonhole,  and  led  to  certain 
actions  the  object  of  which  was  the  continuance  of  his 
connection  with  her. 

Sir  Rawlin's  appearance  in  Southquay  as  the  hope  of 
a  political  party  coincided  with  the  occurrence  of  two 
other  events,  both  of  which  had  been  already  arranged 
without  reference  to  himself.  Both  these  events,  in  a 
certain  sense,  were  social.  One  of  them  was  political 
as  well. 

The  sacred  fire  of  conservatism  was  kept  alive  in  the 
constituency,  not  only  by  the  association  which  con- 
cerned itself  with  the  actual  conduct  of  elections,  but 
also  by  the  local  branch  of  a  great  national  league,  the 
object  of  which  was,  by  means  of  periodical  fetes,  to 
associate  Conservative  principles  with  ideas  of  popular 

89 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

happiness.  Year  by  year,  wherever  it  had  a  branch, 
the  league  thus  celebrated  the  birthday  of  the  statesman 
whose  name  it  bore;  and  that  anniversary  being  now 
but  a  few  days  distant,  the  Bath  Saloons  of  Southquay 
had,  long  before  Sir  Rawlin's  arrival,  been  secured  for 
the  occasion  by  the  league's  local  council.  Some  well- 
known  members  of  Parliament  had  promised  to  make 
short  speeches.  Better  still,  a  certain  dazzling  mar- 
chioness, whose  praise  was  in  the  papers  as  the  hostess 
of  kings  and  princes,  and  whose  photographs  were  as 
frequent  in  the  shops  as  those  of  the  most  renowned 
actress,  having  taken  a  house  at  Southquay  for  a  little 
consumptive  daughter,  had  let  it  be  known  that  she  in- 
tended to  be  present  also.  Sir  Rawlin,  accordingly,  was 
soon  the  recipient  of  a  letter  which  urged  on  him  that 
the  fete  would  afford  him  an  unrivalled  opportunity  of 
making  a  public  appearance  before  a  gathering  of  his 
future  supporters.  The  Bath  Saloons,  moreover,  on  the 
night  before  the  fete,  were  to  be  the  scene  of  another 
gathering  of  a  somewhat  different  kind — namely,  a  ball, 
which  was  to  be  as  conservatively  select  as  the  fete  was 
to  be  conservatively  inclusive;  and  this  function  like- 
wise he  was  specially  requested  to  attend. 

Both  invitations  he  accepted;  and  now,  after  a  week 
of  drudgery,  a  morning  at  last  arrived  when  he  sat  down 
to  his  breakfast  with  a  day  before  him  wholly  at  his  own 
disposal,  and  when  the  post  had  contented  itself  with 
bringing  him  one  letter  and  a  packet  only.  Having  read 
the  first  and  satisfied  himself  as  to  the  contents  of  the 
second,  he  at  once  proceeded  to  scribble  a  hasty  note. 
This  he  instructed  his  servant  to  deliver  without  delay, 
and,  if  possible,  to  bring  back  an  answer.  Meanwhile, 
seated  by  a  window,  with  a  sense  of  holiday  in  his  heart, 
he  looked  down  across  the  greenness  of  the  crescent  gar- 
dens at  the  sea,  and  felt  the  exhilaration  of  the  spring 
stealing  to  him  from  a  bowl  of  violets.  He  was  still  en- 
joying his  reveries  when  the  return  of  his  servant  with 
a  small  note  interrupted  them.  The  note  consisted  of 

90 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

only  a  single  sentence,  to  the  effect  that  the  writer  would 
expect  him  as  soon  as  he  liked  to  come.  He  armed  him- 
self with  the  letter  and  packet  which  the  morning's  post 
had  brought  him,  called  for  his  hat  and  stick,  and  issued 
into  the  open  air. 

All  the  world  seemed  young  as  the  breath  of  the  sea 
came  up  to  him.  He  descended  to  the  shore,  along 
which,  as  the  tide  was  low,  a  stretch  of  sand  among 
bowlders  afforded  a  tempting  path.  Less  than  a  mile 
away  stood  Cliff's  End  on  its  promontory.  With  desul- 
tory steps  he  moved  forward  in  that  direction,  pausing 
now  and  then  to  examine  some  pool  among  the  rocks, 
in  whose  salt  crystal  sea-anemones  wavered ;  and  at  last 
he  found  himself  at  the  foot  of  the  gray  limestone  heights 
over  which  there  peered  a  shrub  or  two  of  Lady  Susan- 
nah's garden. 

The  letter  and  the  packet  which  he  had  brought  with 
him  both  related  to  members  of  Lady  Susannah's  family. 
Neither  of  them  concerned  Miss  Vivian.  They  concerned 
the  two  boys,  her  cousins,  and  represented  on  his  part 
a  general  feeling  of  amity  which,  since  the  day  of  the 
luncheon-party,  had  been  drawing  him  toward  the  whole 
household  and  enveloping  his  thoughts  of  the  girl  in  the 
atmosphere  of  its  safe  inclusiveneSs.  As  for  his  present 
appointment,  it  was  with  Lady  Susannah  herself;  and 
the  hour  being  still  a  little  premature  for  a  visit,  he  con- 
ceived the  idea  of  scrambling  round  the  base  of  the 
promontory,  and  killing  his  superfluous  time  by  explor- 
ing the  coast  beyond.  In  order,  however,  to  accomplish 
the  latter  part  of  his  programme,  he  found  that  it  would 
be  necessary  to  surmount  a  small  intervening  headland, 
toward  which,  on  the  farther  side,  the  gardens  of  Cliff's 
End  descended.  On  gaining  the  summit,  through  a 
crevice  half  masked  by  bushes,  he  was  greeted  by  the 
sight  of  a  cluster  of  Scotch  firs,  which  had  assumed  a 
shape  suggestive  of  the  umbrella-pines  of  Italy,  and 
seemed  now  to  be  pricking  with  their  needles  a  Mediter- 
ranean sky.  At  the  foot  of  one  of  the  trunks,  purplish 
i  91 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

and  scaling  into  pink,  Sir  Rawlin  was  startled  by  per- 
ceiving a  medley  of  other  colors — a  mass  of  creamy  white, 
some  star-like  spots  of  gold,  and  a  patch  of  redness  like 
a  poppy's.  The  whiteness  was  a  garment  enveloping  a 
seated  female  figure,  the  spots  of  gold  were  buttons,  the 
redness  was  a  tilted  cap.  The  figure  was  that  of  an 
artist,  her  head  bent  over  a  sketching-block  and  her 
eyes  fixed  on  her  handiwork  under  cover  of  her  long  eye- 
lashes. 

A  rustle  in  the  bushes  caused  her  to  look  up,  and  there 
came  to  her  from  Sir  Rawlin's  lips  the  simple  greeting: 
"  So  there  you  are!  Please,"  he  went  on,  "  don't  get  up 
and  disturb  yourself.  Let  me  sit  down  by  you  and 
watch.  Don't  let  the  color  dry.  Go  on  with  the  sky- 
line." 

Her  beauty  once  more  astonished  him.  He  ceased 
to  wonder  at  any  of  his  past  indiscretions.  At  the  same 
time  he  resolved  not  to  repeat  them.  Miss  Vivian  look- 
ed at  him  for  a  moment  with  eyes  in  which  the  light  of 
pleasure  was  disturbing  the  languor  of  a  dream.  Then 
she  resumed  her  work,  but  he  noticed  that  her  hand 
trembled  and  the  gilt  buttons  on  her  breast  slowly  rose 
and  fell.  At  last  she  said: 

"I  can't  go  on;  I  am  spoiling  it.  The  sea  should  be 
far  away — as  far  away  as  heaven;  but  look,  one  would 
think  it  was  coming  at  one  through  the  chinks  of  these 
odious  bushes." 

"  Will  you  trust  your  brush  to  me  ?"  he  said.  "  I  can 
make  that  right  in  a  minute  or  two.  Your  drawing  and 
your  coloring  are  perfect." 

She  turned  her  head  away,  and  for  answer  pushed  the 
sketch  toward  him.  With  the  touch  of  an  expert  he 
proceeded  to  give  strength  to  the  foreground.  The  gorse, 
the  cliffs,  and  the  brambles  stood  out  and  asserted  them- 
selves, and  the  sea  with  its  turquoise  bloom  went  float- 
ing into  a  breezy  distance.  Presently  she  turned  again 
to  him,  and,  her  cheek  almost  touching  his  shoulder, 
she  peered  over  his  arm  as  he  worked. 

92 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

"It  was  dead,"  she  whispered,  "and  you — you  have 
made  it  live." 

"Listen,"  he  replied,  in  the  accents  of  friendly  com- 
mon-sense. "  Will  you  let  me  consult  you  about  a  really 
serious  matter  ?  I  am  going  to  consult  your  aunt  about 
it,  and  I  am  waiting  till  I  can  decently  call  upon  her. 
Oswald  told  me,  or  else  you  did,  that,  before  he  embarks 
on  his  profession,  he  is  going  for  a  time  to  Oxford — going 
there  next  autumn.  Well,  it  occurred  to  me  that  it 
might  be  a  pleasant  and  useful  thing  for  him  to  have  a 
little  experience  of  diplomatic  life  beforehand;  so  I 
wrote  to  Sir  Frank  Paston,  our  ambassador  at  Constan- 
tinople, to  ask  him  if  he  would  care  to  have  a  charming 
boy  as  a  guest,  or  an  extra  secretary,  or  whatever  we 
like  to  call  it,  for  two  or  three  months  before  his  Oxford 
discipline  begins.  Sir  Frank  is  in  London,  and  I  got  his 
reply  this  morning.  He  is  delighted  with  the  idea ;  but 
I  did  not  want  to  say  anything  to  Oswald  himself  till  I'd 
found  out  from  your  aunt  whether  he  would  be  allowed 
to  go." 

The  girl,  who  had  been  listening  attentively,  now 
sprang  to  her  feet. 

"Come!"  she  exclaimed.  "I  will  take  you  to  Aunt 
Susannah  at  once.  Tell  me  this:  are  you  always  help- 
ing somebody?" 

Sir  Rawlin  laughed.  "That,"  he  said,  "remains  to 
be  seen.  I've  something  up  my  sleeve  for  you,  too,  if 
I  find  that  your  aunt  approves.  Meanwhile,  will  you 
give  that  packet  to  Mr.  Hugo  ?  You  shall  tell  me  after- 
ward what  his  face  was  like  when  he  opened  it." 

Lady  Susannah  welcomed  Sir  Rawlin  with  a  certain 
air  of  surprise  which  made  her  pleasure  in  seeing  him 
only  the  more  evident.  He  at  once  explained  his  mis- 
sion, as  far  as  it  related  to  Oswald,  winding  up  with  an 
account  of  his  meeting  with  Miss  Vivian  under  the  fir- 
trees. 

"Sir  Rawlin,"  she  said,  "you're  a  regular  fairy  god- 
mother. Tell  Oswald  yourself  about  it.  Nothing  in  the 

93 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

world  could  be  better  for  him.  I  hope  that  thanks  don't 
bore  you,  for  mine  are  not  over  yet.  A  little  while  after 
you  first  met  my  niece  she  had  a  sort  of  relapse.  We 
thought  she  was  going  to  be  ill  again.  But  this  last  week, 
in  a  really  wonderful  way,  she  has  got  back  her  health 
and  spirits.  You  see  how  right  you  were  in  what  you 
said  to  me  about  providing  her  with  interests — social  in- 
terests, and  so  on.  Yes,  Sir  Rawlin,  I  put  it  all  down  to 
you.  Ever  since  that  stupid  little  luncheon  of  mine, 
which  was  the  outcome  of  your  suggestions,  Nest  has 
been  a  different  person." 

"You  have  given  me,"  said  Sir  Rawlin,  "the  exact 
encouragement  I  require;  for,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  one 
of  my  reasons  for  coming  here  was  to  suggest  to  you  for 
her  benefit  two  dissipations  more."  He  then  went  on 
to  mention  the  coming  fete.  He  begged  that  Lady 
Susannah  and  Miss  Vivian  would  keep  him  in  counte- 
nance by  being  present  at  it;  and,  finding  that  his  first 
proposal  was  received  with  sufficient  favor,  he  proceeded 
to  broach  the  second.  "  Besides  the  fete,"  he  said,  "  an- 
other event  is  impending:  a  ball  in  honor  of  mi-careme 
— I  believe  an  unusually  good  one.  Now,  why  should 
Miss  Vivian  not  also  go  to  that?  I  thought  I  should 
have  found  your  own  name  down  in  the  list  of  patron- 
esses." 

"Oh,"  said  Lady  Susannah,  with  a  plaintive,  depre- 
cating smile,  "  balls  are  not  at  all  in  my  line.  But,  upon 
my  word,  I  don't  know  about  Nest.  George  Carlton, 
who  went  on  into  Cornwall,  is  coming  back  to  us;  and 
there  isn't  a  dowager  in  London  who's  a  safer  chaperon 
than  he  is.  Let  us  ask  Nest  herself;  for,  of  course, 
though  I  was  remiss  enough  not  to  say  this  before,  you'll 
stay  and  lunch  with  us — won't  you  ? — and  we  can  have 
it  all  out  then." 

Sir  Rawlin  was  interrupted  in  his  acceptance  of  this 
invitation  by  two  sudden  noises  in  the  hall — that  of  an 
opening  door  and  that  of  an  excited  voice. 

"Oh,  Nest,"  called  the  voice — it  plainly  proceeded 

94 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

from  Miss  Arundel — "come  into  the  school-room — do! 
Mr.  Hugo  has  opened  his  parcel,  and  what  do  you  think 
was  in  it  ?  Sir  Rawlin  has  had  it  sent  from  Vienna.  It's 
a  beautiful  little  tube  of  radium!" 

Sir  Rawlin,  on  hearing  this,  leaned  back  in  his  chair 
and  laughed. 

"I  declare,"  said  Lady  Susannah,  "you're  spoiling  my 
whole  family.  Ah,  there's  Oswald  outside."  She  rose 
and  tapped  the  window.  "  Tell  him  your  news  while  I 
get  ready  for  luncheon.  Oswald,  my  dear,  come  in; 
here's  some  one  who  wants  to  speak  to  you." 

The  boy  came  as  invited,  and  the  luncheon-bell  had 
not  rung  before  he  looked  even  happier  than  Sir  Rawlin 
had  hoped  to  see  him.  Nor  was  Mr.  Hugo,  who  was 
found  standing  in  the  hall  when  Lady  Susannah  con- 
ducted Sir  Rawlin  to  the  dining-room,  in  a  state  less  en- 
viable than  his  brother's.  His  delight  with  his  present 
was  so  great  as  to  render  his  thanks  inaudible,  but  his 
face  was  fossilized  into  a  smile  which  his  manhood  was 
unable  to  subjugate.  They  had  just  seated  themselves 
when  Miss  Vivian  made  her  appearance.  She  hardly 
looked  at  Sir  Rawlin,  but  her  eyes  were  gay  and  shining, 
and  her  cheeks,  as  she  slipped  quietly  into  the  vacant 
place  beside  him,  colored  like  a  pink  shell. 

The  boys  showed  a  tendency  to  mask  their  respective 
exhilarations  under  covert  witticisms  at  the  expense  of 
Miss  Arundel's  housekeeping;  and  Sir  Rawlin,  who  seem- 
ed to  have  brought  with  him  a  general  spirit  of  cheerful- 
ness, soon  proclaimed  to  his  neighbor  the  secret  with 
which  he  had  lately  tantalized  her — namely,  his  two  pro- 
posals relating  to  the  fete  and  ball.  Would  anybody  go 
to  either  ?  And  who  would  go  to  which  ?  All  of  them 
would  go  to  the  fete  and  hear  Sir  Rawlin  speak.  The 
future  diplomatist  would  perhaps  go  to  the  ball.  Miss 
Vivian  would  do  so,  certainly,  if  Cousin  George  Carlton 
would  take  her.  Such  was  the  conclusion  arrived  at  to 
the  satisfaction  of  everybody. 

"And  now,"  said  Sir  Rawlin,  "a  happy  thought  has 

95 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

struck  me.  Among  the  many  odd  things  I've  become 
in  the  course  of  the  past  fortnight,  one,  I  believe,  is  the 
president  of  the  Southquay  Golf  Club.  Since,  as  I  hear, 
the  farmer  up  on  the  hill  will  not  allow  the  young  ladies 
the  use  of  his  field  any  longer,  why  should  not  Miss  Viv- 
ian let  golf  take  the  place  of  hockey?" 

"My  dear  Nest,"  said  Miss  Arundel,  "golf  would  be 
just  the  thing  for  you.  And  you,  Mr.  Hugo,  you  used 
to  play  when  you  were  at  school.  You  might  go,  too; 
and,  if  you  are  good,  you  might  take  Elvira.  Elvira  is 
coming  after  luncheon.  She  and  you  might  show  Nest 
the  links,  at  all  events;  though,  of  course,  as  you're  not 
members,  they  won't  let  you  into  the  club-house." 

Sir  Rawlin  suggested  that,  as  his  position  of  president 
probably  gave  him  the  right  of  introducing  any  friends 
he  chose,  he  should  go  with  them  himself  and  make  a 
trial  of  his  new  privileges.  "  Do,"  said  Lady  Susannah; 
and  so  that  matter  was  settled.  Miss  Elvira  arrived, 
rosy,  smiling,  and  muscular;  and  when  she  and  Mr. 
Hugo  had  started,  leading  the  way,  Sir  Rawlin  and  Miss 
Vivian  followed  at  a  more  leisurely  pace,  Oswald  having 
meanwhile  absented  himself  on  some  unexplained  busi- 
ness of  his  own. 

Sir  Rawlin  set  out  with  an  unacknowledged  feeling  at 
his  heart  that  things  to-day  were  going  at  once  right  and 
wrong  with  him.  It  was  all  very  well  to  tell  himself  that 
this  girl  was  a  child ;  but  everything  distinctive  of  wom- 
anhood, which  has  ever  troubled  man  or  itself,  seemed 
latent  now  in  her  eyes,  in  the  disturbing  delicacy  of  her 
intonations,  and  in  the  footsteps  accompanying  his  own 
with  such  a  docile  and  gay  fidelity.  He  was,  neverthe- 
less, tempted  to  reflect  presently  that  this  maturity,  de- 
spite its  dangers,  was  in  some  measure  its  own  safe- 
guard. 

He  began,  by  way  of  keeping  to  safe  topics,  with  ask- 
ing her  if  she  knew  what  had  happened  to  the  absent 
Oswald. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  laughing,  "I  know,  though  he  hasn't 

96 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

told  me.  He's  gone  to  revisit  a  spot  where  he  fell  in  love 
yesterday  afternoon  with  a  beautiful  being  whom  he  en- 
countered when  he  walked  with  me  up  to  Miss  Aldritch's. 
She  was  coming  out  of  the  gardens  of  your  crescent,  look- 
ing as  if  the  world  belonged  to  her ;  and  I  must  say,  for 
Oswald's  credit,  that  she  stared  at  him  as  if  he  belonged 
to  her,  too.  It's  so  easy  to  see  through  boys.  Ever 
since  then  he's  felt  that  he  has  made  a  conquest,  By 
this  time  he's  watching  the  gate,  and  I  dare  say  com- 
posing a  poem  about  her — about  unkissed  kisses,  and 
'  broken '  and  '  unspoken. '  " 

A  young  lady,  he  felt,  who  could  talk  about  matters 
in  this  fashion  was  not  devoid  of  qualities  which  would 
make  her  her  own  protectress. 

The  nearest  way  to  the  golf-course  was  by  the  path 
which  a  week  ago  Miss  Vivian  had  traversed  with  Mr. 
Barton,  and  which  ran  by  the  grove  of  firs  under  which 
she  had  sketched  that  morning;  but  farther  on,  where 
it  mounted  some  rising  ground,  it  was  seen  to  skirt  so 
closely  the  brink  of  an  appalling  precipice,  over  which 
Mr.  Hugo  and  Miss  Elvira  now  appeared  to  be  hanging, 
that  Miss  Vivian  entreated  her  companion  to  take  her 
by  the  shore  instead. 

Sir  Rawlin  assented  with  some  secret  reluctance. 
"  Yes,"  he  said,  "if  you  like  it,  I'm  sure  that  your  plan 
is  possible.  Indeed,  I  can  just  remember  being  taken 
that  way  when  a  boy.  There  used,  somewhere  at  the 
end,  to  be  an  odd  old  haunted  house."  A  haunted 
house  would  be  a  topic  even  safer  than  the  heart  of 
Oswald. 

They  descended  to  the  shore  accordingly,  and,  much 
to  Sir  Rawlin's  satisfaction,  another  safe  topic  was 
started  by  the  girl  herself — namely,  the  technique  of 
painting  in  water-colors.  What  indiscretion  could  lurk 
in  discussions  as  to  lakes  and  carmines,  cobalts  and  flake 
whites,  and  their  several  relations  to  the  magic  of  seas 
and  hills  and  sunsets  ?  And  yet  even  pigments  and  their 
uses  were  not  without  some  human  interest ;  for  Sir  Raw- 

97 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

lin,  having  touched  on  the  methods  by  which  various 
effects  were  producible,  was  naturally  questioned  about 
the  purposes  to  which  he  had  himself  applied  them ;  and 
just  as  naturally  his  answers,  deserting  paints  and  paint- 
boxes, grew  into  descriptions  of  the  scenes  he  had  tried 
to  capture — Eastern  evenings  descending  over  plains 
where  tents  and  camels  shared  the  solitude  with  the 
mounds  of  Mesopotamian  cities ;  primitive  water-wheels 
whose  pitchers  might  have  ministered  to  the  flocks  of 
Abraham;  apparitions  of  appalling  palaces  lost  in  for- 
gotten deserts,  and  castles  of  crusading  counts  at  whose 
portals  were  stone  lions,  and  whose  halls  and  fountained 
courts  the  boldest  sheik  of  the  Hauran  had  never  dared 
to  enter,  deeming  them  the  abode  of  demons. 

A  walk  of  half  a  mile,  beguiled  by  descriptions  such 
as  these,  brought  them  from  the  beach  to  a  cart-track 
which,  issuing  from  a  disused  quarry,  hugged  the  base 
of  the  cliffs,  and  to  which  they  were  obliged  to  betake 
themselves.  Following  this,  and  presently  turning  a 
corner,  they  were  confronted  by  a  curious  spectacle.  To 
Miss  Vivian  it  was  new  and  startling.  It  came  back  to 
Sir  Rawlin  as  a  vision  half  remembered.  Before  them 
was  a  sequestered  creek,  which  was  bordered  on  the 
farther  side,  not  by  cliffs,  but  by  a  gradual  and  wooded 
slope ;  and  at  the  bottom  of  this,  and  almost  touched  by 
the  sea,  was  an  isolated  and  extensive  habitation  of  a 
laughably  fantastic  character.  It  consisted  of  a  circular 
structure  surmounted  by  grotesque  battlements,  pierced 
with  horseshoe  windows,  spiked  with  stucco  minarets, 
and  flanked  by  two  long  annexes  of  the  same  style  as  the 
centre.  In  front  of  it  was  a  terrace  with  walls,  the  bases 
of  which  were  green  with  sea-weed,  and  which  alone,  to 
all  appearance,  saved  the  whole  from  being  washed  away. 

"Ah,"  said  Sir  Rawlin,  "there  it  is!  That's  the  old 
haunted  house.  It  used,  I  think,  to  be  called  the  Turk- 
ish Castle.  It  was  built  by  an  Anglo-Indian,  who  for 
some  reason  never  lived  in  it.  We  used  to  be  told  that 
it  was  full  of  mirrors  and  gorgeous  gilding;  but  sight- 

98 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

seers  were  never  admitted,  and  I'm  sure  we  can  neither 
of  us  wonder  that  it  never  had  found  a  tenant." 

At  the  point  where  they  were  now  standing  the  cart- 
track  began  to  rise  and  a  smaller  track  branched  off  from 
it,  running  down  to  a  stunted  pier,  from  which  the  stone 
of  the  quarry  had  been  formerly  transferred  to  lighters. 
A  little  way  up  the  ascent  the  two  spectators  paused, 
and,  leaning  together  on  the  bar  of  a  broken  fence,  they 
contemplated  the  castle  again,  whose  details  were  now 
more  distinguishable. 

"Look  at  it,"  said  Sir  Rawlin.  "Not  another  house 
in  sight.  One  might  be  at  the  end  of  the  world  here, 
instead  of  in  the  heart  of  Southquay.  The  interior,  we 
used  to  be  told,  was  always  kept  in  repair,  though  no 
one  was  allowed  to  enter  it.  I  dare  say  it  is  so  still, 
though  the  garden  on  the  terrace  in  front  is  nothing 
more  than  a  wilderness." 

Here  he  was  checked  by  the  girl,  who  suddenly  seized 
his  arm,  and  drawing  herself  close  to  him  whispered, 
with  a  slight  shudder: 

"Hush!  Do  you  see  that — just  down  below  us,  on 
the  pier?" 

At  the  end  of  the  pier,  within  reach  of  a  child's  stone- 
throw,  was  a  man,  solitary  and  motionless,  who,  like 
themselves,  had  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  castle.  He  was 
looking  at  it  through  a  pair  of  opera-glasses.  His  figure, 
tall  and  striking,  was  shrouded  in  a  long  blue  cloak,  and 
in  the  easy  erectness  of  his  bearing  there  was  a  suggestion 
of  military  command. 

"What  can  he  be  up  to?"  said  Miss  Vivian  in  Sir 
Rawlin's  ear.  "  He's  got  his  watch  out,  as  though  he 
were  timing  something.  I  call  this  most  uncanny." 

They  continued  to  observe  in  silence,  till  Sir  Rawlin, 
in  a  whisper  like  her  own,  called  her  attention  to  an  ob- 
ject on  the  parapet  of  the  sea-wall  opposite. 

"At  first,"  he  said,  "I  thought  it  was  a  man,  but  it 
isn't;  it's  a  kind  of  scarecrow.  And  now — good  Heav- 
ens! what's  this?  Is  this  a  ghost  or  a  woman ?" 

99 


While  he  was  speaking  a  curious  thing  had  happened. 
A  figure,  seemingly  female,  had  emerged  from  some  por- 
tion of  the  desolate  pile  of  buildings,  and  rapidly  flitting 
toward  the  object  which  Sir  Rawlin  had  called  a  scare- 
crow, administered  a  violent  and  apparently  murderous 
push  to  it,  sending  it  headlong  into  the  water,  on  which 
it  remained  floating.  Then  the  moving  apparition  hur- 
riedly retraced  its  steps  and  was  lost  to  sight  behind  a 
turret  in  which  the  sea-wall  terminated.  At  the  same 
time  the  cloaked  watcher  put  his  opera-glasses  into  his 
pocket  and  turned  round  to  quit  the  pier. 

Sir  Rawlin  and  Miss  Vivian  could  now  see  his  face. 
It  was  one,  as  they  both  felt,  which  it  would  not  be  easy 
to  forget.  Clean-shaven,  except  for  a  slight  mustache 
and  imperial,  it  might  have  been  the  face  of  an  ambas- 
sador, a  foreign  general,  or  even  an  aristocratic  con- 
spirator. It  was  certainly  un-English,  and  the  quiet 
and  possessive  confidence  with  which  the  man  surveyed 
the  scene  invested  him  with  an  air  which  Englishmen 
regard  as  insolent  when  any  one  but  an  Englishman  ex- 
hibits it  out  of  his  own  country. 

"If  we  walk  on  slowly,"  said  Sir  Rawlin,  "he  will 
presently  catch  us  up,  and  then  we  can  see  him  better." 

This  expectation  was  not,  however,  verified  by  events. 
The  man,  seemingly  lost  in  his  own  thoughts,  and  wear- 
ing a  slight  smile,  picked  his  way  down  the  sloping  side 
of  the  pier,  by  which,  as  they  now  perceived,  a  small 
boat  was  rocking;  and  presently  with  vigorous  strokes 
he  was  pulling  himself  toward  the  building  opposite. 
The  last  they  saw  of  him  was  that,  close  to  the  sea-wall, 
he  was  drawing  the  floating  figure  into  his  little  craft 
with  a  boat-hook. 

Full  of  speculation  as  to  the  meaning  of  these  mys- 
terious proceedings,  and  the  possible  character  of  their 
no  less  mysterious  hero,  Sir  Rawlin  and  Miss  Vivian 
made  their  way  to  the  golf-ground,  where,  in  taking  a 
short  route  to  the  club-house,  they  only  just,  by  in- 
stinctive and  mutual  consent,  contrived  to  avoid  at- 

100 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

tracting  the  observation  of  Colonel  O'Brian.  The  Colo- 
nel, in  monumental  stockings,  the  pattern  of  which 
would  have  been  legible  at  a  distance  of  five  hundred 
yards,  was  luckily  occupied  with  a  black-eyed  and  sal- 
low-faced companion,  whom  he  was,  with  considerable 
gusto,  addressing  by  the  title  of  count. 

"  What  an  escape !"  said  Miss  Vivian,  as  they  sheltered 
themselves  behind  a  ridge  of  hillocks.  "  I  hope  I  may 
never  be  submitted  to  a  second  course  of  his  fascina- 
tions. We  can't  stop  long.  If  he  sees  us  with  Elvira 
we  are  done  for.  Where  is  she?  And  where  is  Mr. 
Hugo  ?  Let  us  find  them  at  once  and  be  off.  Ah,  she 
is  there.  She  sees  us.  She  is  standing  at  the  door  of 
the  club-house." 

"  It's  all  right.  The  pater  has  got  us  in."  Such  was 
Miss  Elvira's  greeting  when  the  two  others  approached 
her.  "  The  pater  would  have  stopped — for  we  told  him 
that  you  were  coming — if  he  hadn't  been  hurried  away 
to  play  a  twosome  with  Count  Giordano.  Mr.  Hugo 
and  I  are  going  to  begin  next  week ;  and  now,  Mr.  Hugo 
says,  let's  go  home  to  school-room  tea." 

Sir  Rawlin  and  Miss  Vivian  were  delighted  to  get  out 
of  the  Colonel's  range,  and  the  whole  party  returned  to 
Cliff's  End  together. 

The  following  day  was  Sunday;  and  now  once  more 
Sir  Rawlin,  when  he  said  good-bye  to  his  friends,  dis- 
covered the  power  of  circumstances  to  bring  about  the 
unintended. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Lady  Susannah,  "what  church 
you  may  go  to;  but  perhaps,  if  you  go  to  All  Saints', 
we  may  see  you  after  one  of  the  services." 

Miss  Vivian  was  watching  him  as  he  answered.  "  I 
shouldn't,"  he  said,  "wonder  if  you  found  me  there." 

But  not  even  yet  were  the  incidents  of  the  day  over 
for  him.  The  unintended  met  him  again,  when  he  en- 
tered the  crescent  gardens,  on  his  way  back  to  his  hotel. 
It  was  now  twilight,  but  the  twilight  was  still  luminous; 
and  where  two  walks  met  he  encountered  a  noticeable 

101 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

lady,  the  finished  arrogance  of  whose  bearing  even  the 
twilight  could  not  obscure.  He  glanced  at  her  with 
some  curiosity,  thoughts  of  Oswald  recurring  to  him; 
and  he  became  aware,  as  he  did  so,  not  only  of  a  hand- 
some face,  but  of  a  face  which,  after  a  moment's  scrutiny 
of  him,  became  enlivened  with  a  half-seen  smile. 

"And  so,"  said  the  lady,  "it's  you!  You're  a  very 
uncivil  man.  Perhaps  it  hasn't  occurred  to  you  that 
I've  been  here  for  two  whole  days,  dying  for  some  one  to 
talk  to,  and  you  haven't  been  once  to  see  me." 

"  Lady  Conway !"  exclaimed  Sir  Rawlin.  "  Of  course  I 
had  heard  that  you  were  coming.  Everybody  has  heard 
that.  But  I  had  not  an  idea  that  you  had  arrived." 

"Then  I  know  more  about  you,"  she  said,  "than  you 
know  about  me.  I  know  where  you  lunched  to-day.  I 
might  have  known,  had  I  wished  to  do  so,  exactly  what 
you  had  for  luncheon;  and  I've  discovered  a  new  cousin 
who,  when  I  last  saw  him,  was  in  pinafores.  Oswald 
was  very  rightly  of  opinion  that  a  cat  may  look  at  a 
queen — he'll  go  far,  will  Oswald — and  so  I  saw  no  reason 
why  a  queen  shouldn't  talk  to  a  cat.  I  asked  him  his 
name,  and  I  found  he  was  my  own  flesh  and  blood — a 
third  cousin,  only  two  or  three  times  removed.  '  Oswald,' 
I  said  to  him,  when  the  terrible  parting  came,  'if  we 
weren't  within  the  prohibited  degrees,  I  really  think  I 
should  kiss  you.'  And  now,  my  dear  man,  this  evening 
I'm  all  alone.  Shall  I  eat  my  heart  out  by  myself,  or 
will  you  eat  a  mutton-chop  in  my  company,  and  tell 
me  about  the  pretty  young  lady  whose  education  you 
appear  to  have  undertaken?  She,  I  should  gather,  is 
likely  to  go  as  far  as  Oswald." 

Lady  Conway  was  the  marchioness  whose  brilliant 
and  superlative  patronage  was  to  glorify  the  coming 
fete  and  also  Sir  Rawlin' s  first  public  introduction  to  the 
constituency. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  appearance  of  Lady  Conway  on  the  scene  had 
been  far  from  welcome  to  Sir  Rawlin.  It  dragged 
him  back  into  a  world  from  which  he  had  been  just 
escaping.  When,  therefore,  on  Sunday  morning  he  be- 
took himself  to  Mr.  Barton's  church  through  quiet  fields, 
only  agitated  by  the  sounds  of  far-off  bells,  he  had  pleas- 
ure in  feeling  that  he  was  on  his  way  to  a  refuge  where 
this  keen -eyed  critic  would  not  be  watching  his  ac- 
tions. The  unusual  beauty  of  the  building,  the  magnifi- 
cence of  the  organ,  the  lifting  power  of  the  music  at  first 
surrounded  him  with  an  atmosphere  in  which  present 
things  were  forgotten ;  and  the  middle  of  the  service  had 
been  reached  before  he  became  aware  of  a  figure,  delicate 
and  white  as  a  snowdrop,  among  the  darkness  of  the 
neighboring  worshippers.  A  hymn  was  in  progress,  and 
Miss  Vivian  was  standing.  Her  eyes  were  contemplating 
her  book;  but  presently,  for  no  obvious  reason,  she  raised 
them,  looked  across  the  white  fur  of  her  boa,  and  en- 
countered Sir  Rawlin 's  glance  with  an  answering  glance 
of  recognition  which  lasted  just  long  enough  to  em- 
phasize its  abrupt  withdrawal. 

After  service  he  accompanied  Lady  Susannah's  party, 
including  the  two  boys,  who  half  enjoyed  church  as  a 
foil  to  their  own  enlightenment,  back  to  Cliff's  End  across 
the  sloping  fields  and  orchards.  In  the  course  of  con- 
versation it  transpired  that  Mr.  Hugo  and  Miss  Elvira 
proposed  to  start  again  for  the  golf-course  next  morning 
at  half-past  eleven ;  and  before  Sir  Rawlin  knew  what  his 
lips  had  spoken,  he  had  said  to  Miss  Vivian: 

"  And  shall  you  and  I  go  there,  too,  as  an  excuse  for 

103 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

another  investigation  of  the  enchanted  castle,  by-the- 
way?" 

The  assent  given  by  the  eyes  of  the  young  lady  in 
white  was  satisfied  by  her  aunt,  who  proceeded  to  express 
a  hope  that  Sir  Rawlin  would  share  their  luncheon. 
"Nest,"  she  said,  "wants  to  show  you  her  sketches.  I 
dare  say  if  you  saw  some  more  of  them  you  could  tell  her 
where  she  goes  wrong." 

"Aunt  Susannah,"  said  Miss  Vivian,  "please  spare 
my  blushes.  I  should  never  have  ventured  to  make 
that  suggestion  myself;  but  now  that  the  ice  is  broken, 
I'll  go  on  to  another,  which  is  that  Sir  Rawlin  would 
some  day  allow  us  to  see  his  own." 

Sir  Rawlin  expressed  a  readiness  to  bring  them  his 
portfolio  for  their  inspection,  but  declared  that  he  must 
lunch  at  home,  where  a  mass  of  correspondence  claimed 
him.  Thus  did  one  thing  lead  on  to  another.  The 
following  morning  came,  and,  true  to  his  appointment, 
he  was  at  Cliff's  End  once  more. 

Mr.  Hugo  and  Miss  Elvira  again  went  by  the  hill,  Sir 
Rawlin  and  Miss  Vivian  by  the  shore;  and  the  latter, 
before  long,  found  themselves  for  a  second  time  scanning 
the  building  which  had  roused  in  them  so  strong  a  curi- 
osity. There  it  was,  fantastic  and  forlorn,  as  they  re- 
membered it;  but  its  aspect  had  undergone  a  change, 
as  though  a  cloud  had  been  partly  lifted  from  it.  Of 
its  many  blinds,  some  had  been  drawn  up.  Of  the  win- 
dows, some  were  open;  and  from  some  of  the  chimneys 
wreaths  of  smoke  were  rising.  They  realized  also,  as 
they  had  not  done  before,  that  the  public  road  into 
which  the  cart-track  brought  them  led  to  the  castle 
gates,  these  being  not  far  off;  and  the  spirit  of  adventure 
prompted  them  to  approach  the  red  stone  gate-posts 
and  get  what  view  they  might  of  the  strange  precinct 
within.  The  rusty  gates  were  open,  and  the  portals 
of  the  mansion  itself,  surmounted  by  arabesques  in 
stucco,  were  some  fifty  yards  away.  There  were  wheel- 
marks  on  the  gravel,  but  the  rough  grass  was  uncared 

104 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

for,  and  the  only  other  vegetation  consisted  of  clumps 
of  rosemary.  Half  ashamed  of  seeming  to  stand  there 
like  a  pair  of  intruding  tourists,  they  had  become,  never- 
theless, so  absorbed  in  the  scene  before  them  that  pres- 
ently they  were  startled  by  finding  a  man  confronting 
them,  without  their  having  noticed  his  approach  or  being 
able  to  conjecture  whence  he  came.  Though  he  was  not 
the  solitary  of  the  pier,  he,  too,  like  that  personage,  was 
enveloped  in  a  long  cloak;  but  his  general  aspect  was 
otherwise  widely  different.  His  cloak  itself  differed 
from  that  of  the  solitary  in  the  bold  self-confidence  of 
the  patterning  which  striped  its  soft  brown  substance; 
and  thrown  back  as  it  was  with  a  somewhat  rakish  air, 
it  revealed  a  satin  scarf  on  whose  gloss  was  a  huge  pearl 
set  in  such  a  manner  as  to  mimic  a  human  skull.  His 
boots  were  perfection,  his  checked  trousers  were  crease- 
less,  and  a  hand  which  the  cloak  left  visible  bore  a 
noticeable  turquoise  ring.  The  man  was  none  other 
than  Sir  Rawlin's  friend,  the  traveller. 

Sir  Rawlin,  whether  he  blushed  or  no,  had  a  passing 
suspicion  that  he  must  be  doing  so. 

"What!"  he  exclaimed;  "and  so  it's  you,  is  it,  who 
are  lord  of  the  enchanted  castle  ?  This  young  lady  and 
I  were  on  our  way  to  the  golf  -  course  when  the  fatal 
passion  of  curiosity  tempted  us  from  the  right  path. 
You  know  who  she  is  already.  I  must  tell  her  that 
you're  Lord  Cotswold." 

Miss  Vivian  recognized  the  name.  She  remembered, 
with  a  faint  smile,  the  discussion  of  it  at  her  aunt's 
table.  Lord  Cotswold  raised  his  hat — a  sort  of  melo- 
drama in  felt — with  an  air  of  delightful  deference. 

"  My  dear,"  he  said,  kindly,  "  do  you  see  this  deserted 
garden?  You  are  probably  the  first  flower  that  has 
blossomed  in  it  for  sixty  years.  The  enchantments  of 
my  castle,  like  its  antiquity,  I  fear,  are  skin-deep  only. 
If  Miss  Vivian  and  Miss  Vivian's  family — I  must  have 
known  some  of  her  relations  once — would  not  be  afraid 
of  any  malign  influences  in  it,  I  hope  I  may  be  allowed 

105 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

to  exhibit  it  to  them  when  its  rooms  are  in  better  order. 
At  present  it  is  a  monastery  inhabited  by  two  monks. 
We  are  waiting  to  break  our  vows  till  the  housemaids 
have  swept  and  garnished  us." 

The  girl  looked  at  him  with  an  expression  which  failed 
to  have  some  spice  of  coquetry  only  because  it  was 
adapted  so  perfectly  to  the  natural  claims  of  Lord  Cots- 
wold's  age  and  dignity. 

"Nothing  will  persuade  me,"  she  said,  "that  you 
haven't  a  ghost  to  enliven  you.  I  saw  it  myself  in  broad 
daylight  on  Saturday.  Your  brother  monk — at  least, 
I  suppose  it  was  he — was  watching  it,  like  a  prudent 
man,  from  the  other  side  of  the  water." 

"Ah,  young  lady,"  said  Lord  Cotswold,  "you  saw 
that  experiment,  did  you?  My  brother  monk  is  repeat- 
ing it  in  the  house  now,  and  I  have  to  go  in  and  watch 
it  before  it's  over.  I'm  coming,  by-the-way,  my  dear 
Rawlin,  to  hear  your  opening  speech,  and  I  hope  this 
first  flower  of  my  garden  will  ornament  your  audience 
also.  She  must,  therefore,"  he  went  on,  "if  I  unwill- 
ingly say  good-bye  to  her,  allow  me  to  mean  by  it  that 
I  am  trusting  to  see  her  very  soon  again.  I  leave  you, 
my  dear,  in  the  care  of  one  of  my  most  valued  friends." 

"That's  the  man,"  said  Sir  Rawlin,  as  they  turned 
away,  "to  whom  in  a  sense  I  owe  everything.  Lord 
Cotswold  was  my  chief  in  Persia.  Some  people  call  him 
a  quack.  They  don't  mean  that  he  hasn't  a  keen  eye 
for  realities.  They  mean  that  he  takes  for  realities 
what  other  people  call  visions.  What  for  them  are  brick 
walls  are  for  him  battlements  over  which  he  leans  and 
watches." 

The  girl  hung  on  his  words,  fascinated  by  what  to  her 
were  merely  their  vague  suggestions. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  went  on,  "what  your  aunt  will 
think  when  she  hears  that  you  have  made  his  acquaint- 
ance. When  we  get  back  we  must  grasp  our  nettle  and 
tell  her.  Meanwhile,  I  have  guessed  who  his  brother 
monk  is.  He  is  either  the  devil,  or  else  he  is  Dr.  Thistle- 

106 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

wood,  with  whom  Lord  Cotswold  has  just  been  round 
the  world." 

"  A  doctor,"  said  Miss  Vivian,  in  a  tone  of  disappointed 
doubt.  "  But  what  makes  you  think  him  a  doctor  ? 
He's  like  none  of  the  many  doctors  who  have  had  to  do 
with  me.  One  could  fancy  him  giving  orders  to  soldiers, 
but  not  to  people  in  bed." 

"If  he  is  really  Dr.  Thistlewood,"  said  Sir  Rawlin, 
"  he  has  given  orders  to  both.  When  little  more  than  a 
boy  he  was  one  of  Garibaldi's  officers;  and  years  later, 
when  the  cholera  was  raging  at  Naples,  he  turned  a  house 
of  his  own  there — a  great  palace — into  a  hospital,  and 
lived  among  the  dead  and  dying.  He  was  celebrated 
everywhere  as  a  hero — he  and  the  King  of  Italy.  If  that 
man  is  Dr.  Thistlewood,  I  should  very  much  like  to 
meet  him." 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Miss  Vivian,  "  this  sounds  much  more 
promising.  By-the-way,  it's  lucky  that  we  sha'n't  meet 
Colonel  O' Brian.  Elvira  told  me  that  her  papa  had  gone 
somewhere  with  his  Count  Giordano,  who  looked  to  me 
like  a  cross  between  a  Jew  and  a  Greek.  I  never  in  my 
life  saw  a  more  disgusting  creature.  He  actually  dared 
to  stare  at  me." 

Lady  Susannah,  when,  by  luncheon-time,  the  party 
had  come  safely  back  to  her,  would  not  permit  to  Sir 
Rawlin  a  second  evasion  of  her  hospitality;  and  he,  feel- 
ing that  he  must  explain  to  her  the  meeting  of  her  niece 
with  Lord  Cotswold,  could  not  have  refused  the  invita- 
tion even  had  he  wished  to  do  so.  Her  equable  reception 
of  the  news  at  once  surprised  and  relieved  him.  It  ap- 
peared that  a  note  had  just  reached  her  from  Lady  Con- 
way,  who,  never  having  remembered  her  existence  for 
something  like  twenty  years,  was  proposing  to  call  on 
her  now,  if  only  she  could  find  time. 

"  I  think,"  said  Lady  Susannah,  with  as  near  an  ap- 
proach to  asperity  as  good-nature  permitted  in  the  breast 
of  a  Christian  woman — "  I  think  if  we  are  to  have  Maud 
Conway  here  we  need  hardly  be  afraid  of  Lord  Cotswold." 

a  107 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

In  this  way  everything  passed  off  smoothly,  and  Sir 
Rawlin  found  himself  pledged,  before  he  was  suffered 
to  depart,  to  show  them  next  day  at  tea-time  his  collec- 
tion of  Oriental  sketches. 

He  proved  himself  a  man  of  his  word.  The  portfolio 
by  the  time  named  had  preceded  its  owner  in  a  cab  and 
been  carried  into  the  school-room,  where  a  large  table 
had  been  cleared  for  it.  Another  table,  as  before,  was 
laden  with  a  substantial  tea;  and  Miss  Vivian  and  her 
three  cousins,  together  with  the  cat  Peter  and  the  smiling 
dachshund  James,  were  awaiting  the  advent  of  the  artist, 
who  was  understood  to  be  walking.  Mr.  Hugo,  pleasant- 
ly hungry,  peeped  under  the  cover  of  the  muffin- dish. 
Oswald,  loftily  conscious  of  a  new  and  hopeless  passion, 
and  also  of  a  passion  on  Lady  Conway's  part,  equally 
hopeless,  which  responded  to  it — conscious  also  that,  an 
object  of  dark  interest  to  others,  he  would  soon  be 
breathing  his  sorrow  to  the  Propontic  and  Hellespontic 
waves — was  in  better  spirits  than  he  ever  had  been  in 
before;  while  Miss  Vivian  disguised  her  expectancy  by 
watching  the  dog  James  as  she  baffled  him  in  his  meek 
attempts  at  biting  her  pointed  shoe. 

"Nest,"  said  Mr.  Hugo,  indicating  a  sealed  medicine- 
bottle  which  stood  on  a  shelf  in  front  of  some  battered 
school-books,  "  the  process  has  begun  already.  In  three 
weeks'  time  that  bottle  will  be  full  of  life." 

"Mr.  Hugo,"  said  Miss  Vivian,  not  troubling  to  look 
up  at  him,  "when  you  talk  like  that  you're  a  goose. 
No,  you're  not — you're  a  gosling." 

"So  you  say,"  retorted  Mr.  Hugo,  rather  feebly.  "I 
suppose  you  think,"  he  proceeded,  being  better  at  ex- 
position than  repartee,  "  that  you  yourself  are  a  sort  of 
special  creation.  You're  no  more  a  special  creation  than 
that  cucumber  which  you  ate  at  luncheon.  If  ever  I 
have  any  children  I  shall  grow  their  heads,  like  cucum- 
bers, in  glasses  of  different  shapes.  One  of  these  will 
be  like  the  head  of  Darwin,  another  like  the  head  of 
the  lowest  type  of  Hottentot,  and  the  characters  of  the 

1 08 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

children — for  their  heads  are  at  first  quite  soft — will  be 
just  what  I  have  chosen  to  make  them.  You,  Nest,  are 
merely  a  house  built  out  of  little  bricks  of  plasm;  and 
you're  a  chapel  or  a  dressmaker's  shop,  and  not  a  villa 
or  a  brewery,  simply  because  your  bricks  have  been  laid 
in  a  certain  way." 

In  this  bold  restatement,  however,  of  the  scientific 
gospel,  he  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  his  aunt, 
with  Sir  Rawlin  and  Mr.  Carlton  following  her. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  Mr.  Carlton  was  saying,  "your 
drawings  will  be  indeed  a  treat.  I've  been  always  so 
much  interested  in  the  East — all  palms  and  rajahs — so 
much  nicer  than  Belgravia.  I  know  nothing  of  it  per- 
sonally but  just  the  little  bit  of  India — so  stiff  and  offi- 
cial— which  I  saw  with  the  prince  and  princess.  Well, 
my  dears,"  he  went  on,  addressing  the  others,  "here 
you  see  me  back  again.  How  those  trains  from  Cornwall 
crawl!  Susie,  dear  creature,  as  the  maids  say,  I'm  lit- 
erally dropping  for  my  tea." 

Tea  was  dispensed  accordingly,  and  afterward,  when 
the  portfolio  was  opened — 

"Now,  Nest,"  said  Mr.  Carlton,  "sit  by  Sir  Rawlin 
on  the  sofa,  for  this  is  all  in  your  honor,  and  you  can 
hand  us  the  pictures  when  you've  done  with  them." 

So  the  exhibition  proceeded.  The  sketches  were  ex- 
plained and  circulated;  but,  as  the  competition  for  them 
increased,  Miss  Vivian  rose  from  her  seat,  and  retired  to 
the  window  with  several  of  them  which  she  studied  with 
deep  attention,  casting  now  and  again  a  hasty  glance  at 
the  artist. 

Matters  were  in  this  position,  the  room  being  a  general 
litter  of  water-colors,  teacups,  and  plates,  and  Oswald 
of  the  Byronic  eyes  happened  to  be  indulging  on  his 
knees  in  some  furtive  performances  with  the  cat,  when 
Lady  Susannah,  who  had  hurriedly  been  called  away, 
reappeared  in  the  doorway  with  somebody  else  talking 
to  her. 

"My  dear,"  this  somebody  was  saying,  in  a  voice  of 
109 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

incisive  suavity,  "  don't  be  like  the  farmers'  wives  and 
imprison  me  in  the  best  parlor.  So  this  is  the  school- 
room, is  it?  Delightful!  I  don't  wonder  it's  popular." 

The  voice  was  still  speaking  when  Lady  Susannah,  a 
little  discomposed,  uttered  to  the  general  assembly  the 
words:  "Here  is  Lady  Conway." 

A  certain  commotion  was  caused  by  this  lady's  entry. 
"Ah,"  she  said,  "I  see  two  friends  already — Sir  Rawlin 
and  George  Carlton.  Susannah,  you  have  quite  a  salon. 
And  now,  where  are  my  cousins?  Are  you  one?"  she 
said  to  Miss  Arundel.  "Well,  my  dear,  how  are  you? 
And  you,"  she  went  on,  turning  Mr.  Hugo  round — "you, 
I  suppose,  are  Science.  Your  brother,  whom  I  know, 
is  Poetry,  and  that  young  lady  in  the  window,  with  the 
drawings  in  her  hands,  is  Art.  Her  devotion  to  it  ap- 
pears extraordinary.  I  must  go  over  and  tell  her  how 
pretty  I  think  her  frock  is." 

Lady  Conway  seemed  to  have  been  making  every- 
thing in  the  room  her  own,  until  she  approached  Miss 
Vivian,  when  her  manner  slightly  changed.  She  looked 
the  girl  up  and  down.  She  looked  her  inquiringly  in  the 
eyes. 

"If  I'd  known  before  that  you  were  here,"  she  said, 
"  I'd  have  taken  you  to  this  ball  myself.  However," 
she  added,  with  a  smile  in  the  direction  of  Mr.  Carlton, 
"  I  gather  that  you'll  be  under  the  care  of  a  much  older 
woman  than  I  am.  And  are  those  your  own  draw- 
ings that  you're  looking  at  with  such  flattering  inter- 
est?" 

"  No,"  said  Miss  Vivian,  "  they  are  some  of  Sir  Rawlin 
Stantor's.  He's  been  showing  my  aunt  and  all  of  us  the 
things  he  did  in  the  East." 

Lady  Conway's  only  verbal  reply  was  short;  but  she 
looked  at  the  girl  again  with  a  sort  of  comprehending 
sympathy,  which  seemed  to  have  a  trace  of  pity  in  it. 

"  Ah,  my  dear  Oswald,"  she  went  on,  "  from  what  hole 
have  you  sprung?  Have  you  only  just  appeared  or 
have  you  been  trying  to  cut  me?" 

no 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

Oswald  by  this  time  had  drifted  quietly  near  her,  the 
lover  in  him  having  by  this  time  recovered  itself  from 
his  unfortunate  familiarities  with  the  cat.  Lady  Con- 
way  gave  him  her  hand,  and,  as  he  held  it  in  speaking 
silence,  she  glanced  for  an  instant  at  Miss  Vivian,  her 
eyes  alight  with  laughter.  To  this  Miss  Vivian  respond- 
ed with  an  intelligence  equal  to  Lady  Conway's.  She 
might  have  been  one  woman  looking  at  another  of  similar 
years  and  experience.  Her  manner,  however,  of  regard- 
ing this  new  acquaintance  presently  became  more  critical 
Lady  Conway,  having  proceeded  to  make  a  very  substan- 
tial tea,  and  having  examined  with  an  air  of  authority 
several  of  Sir  Rawlin's  drawings,  approached  the  artist, 
and,  laying  a  careless  hand  on  his  shoulder,  said  to 
him: 

"Look  here,  are  you  listening?  Before  this  ball — the 
day  after  to-morrow,  isn't  it? — if  it  doesn't  begin  at 
tea-time,  you  had  better  come  and  dine  again  with  me. 
Indeed,  if  you're  not  a  fixture  here,  you  might  walk 
home  with  me  now." 

Miss  Vivian  caught  the  words,  and  noticed  the  action 
which  accompanied  them.  Before  long  it  was  evident 
that  Lady  Conway  was  going.  Sir  Rawlin  rose,  as 
though  he  must  be  going  also,  and  making  his  way  tow- 
ard the  window — 

"Will  you,"  he  said  to  the  girl,  "put  the  pictures  to- 
gether and  take  care  of  them  for  me,  and  give  them  to 
me  when  I  come  again?" 

She  was  still  examining  one  of  them,  over  which  she 
now  bent  more  closely. 

"Yes,  yes,"  she  answered,  without  looking  up.  "I 
had  wanted  to  ask  you  about  some  of  them.  But — 
well,  my  questions  must  wait.  You  are  walking  back 
with  that  woman,  aren't  you?  From  something  you 
said  yesterday,  I  suppose  we  sha'n't  meet  before  the 
ball.  If  she  doesn't  take  up  all  your  time,  I  dare  say  we 
may  meet  there.  My  dress  will  be  black  and  white — 
white,  with  black  velvet  bows.  That  will  help  you  to 

in 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

remember  me.     Thank  you  for  showing  us  the  pictures; 
and  so — good-bye  till  then." 

She  snatched  her  hand  away  from  him,  rose,  and 
turning  to  the  window  looked  out  into  the  gathering 
twilight,  while  he  went  through  his  other  leave-takings. 


CHAPTER  III 

SIR  RAWLIN,  for  the  next  two  days,  was  again  en- 
gaged in  business,  and,  except  in  his  character  of  a 
candidate,  neither  called  on  nor  saw  any  one  until,  on 
the  night  of  the  ball,  he  presented  himself  for  dinner  at 
Lady  Conway's. 

"I  wonder,"  she  began,  when  the  servants  had  left 
the  room — "  come,  if  you  won't  drink,  smoke — I  wonder 
who  that  girl's  parents  are." 

"  What  girl  ?"  asked  Sir  Rawlin,  as  he  applied  a  match 
to  a  cigarette. 

"  I  don't  think  much  of  you,"  said  Lady  Conway,  "  for 
asking  such  a  stupid  question.  The  little  minx  with  the 
smart  frock,  who  is  so  occupied  with  you  and  your 
water-colors." 

"Oh,"  said  Sir  Rawlin,  "I  think  I  can  tell  you  that. 
The  father  is  Captain  Rhys  Vivian." 

"To  be  sure,"  said  Lady  Conway,  interrupting  him. 
"  He's  the  man  who  was  said  by  his  friends  to  suffer 
from  a  peculiar  madness — a  kind  of  kleptomania  which 
only  developed  itself  at  the  card-table.  Anyhow,  he 
committed  that  one  sin  for  which  there  is  no  forgiveness 
in  this  world  or  the  next.  It's  odd  that  commentators 
on  the  Bible  should  have  never  discovered  what  it  is. 
I  saw  him  when  I  was  a  girl — the  admired  of  all  admirers. 
Full  of  good-nature,  they  said  he  was.  He  left  England 
and  married  some  Belgian  countess — the  heiress  of  a 
great  chocolate-maker — at  least,  he  did  so  as  soon  as  the 
inevitable  husband  died.  For  the  sake  of  his  beaux  yeux 
she,  of  course,  thought  him  a  martyr." 

"Well,"  said  Sir  Rawlin,  glad  to  continue  on  safe 
"3 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

ground,  "  the  father,  you  say,  was  good-natured.  He 
must  certainly  be  so  to  his  daughter.  This  young  lady 
has  money.  She  can  order  whatever  she  likes.  But 
it  seems  she's  been  very  ill  from  the  after-affects  of  in- 
fluenza, and  is  here  to  get  back  her  strength.  I  fancy, 
however,  that  this  is  only  part  of  the  story.  There's  a 
half-sister,  it  seems,  who  goes  by  a  different  name — so, 
at  least,  I  gather  from  Lady  Susannah — and  for  some 
reason  or  other  they  don't  get  on  together,  for  if  this  one 
goes  back  to  her  parents,  the  other  is  to  come  here  in- 
stead of  her.  My  own  impression  is  that  this  one  must 
be  illegitimate." 

"Precisely,"  said  Lady  Con  way.  "My  dear  man, 
you're  quite  astute.  One  is  the  daughter  of  the  bond- 
woman, the  other  of  the  free;  one  of  the  mother  as  a  wife, 
the  other  of  the  mother  as  a  mistress;  and  Miss  Isaac, 
depend  upon  it,  makes  home  too  hot  for  Miss  Ishmael. 
Or  else,  perhaps,  this  little  illegitimate  person  can't  bear 
being  reminded  that  her  mother  was  not  always  quite  so 
good  as  she  might  have  been;  and  yet  she,  I  suspect,  has 
something  of  mamma's  blood  in  her  veins,  to  judge  by 
the  impertinence  of  her  frocks  and  by  her  very-much- 
too-pretty  eyes.  But  what  strikes  me  as  so  funny — I'm 
thinking  of  poor  Susannah.  Yes,  yes,  to  be  sure — I  begin 
to  see  light  now." 

"What,"  said  Sir  Rawlin,  "are  you  laughing  at?" 

"  You  will,"  replied  Lady  Conway,  "  hardly  believe  me 
if  I  tell  you.  You  see  what  Susannah  is  now.  She  was 
never  much  better-looking.  But  Fate  finds  out  all  of 
us ;  and  Susannah — it  was  a  family  legend — had  her  own 
romance  like  the  rest  of  us.  This  dazzling  warrior  was 
the  hero  of  it.  She  must  have  two  thousand  a  year,  so 
it's  quite  possible  that  he  encouraged  her;  and  now,  poor 
dear,  she  at  last  finds  she  can  be  of  use  to  him.  Oswald 
told  me  a  thing  or  two;  but  I  don't  think  he  knew  much 
— and  his  memory  has  temporarily  failed  him  for  every- 
thing except  myself." 

"Yes,"  said  Sir  Rawlin,  reflectively,  "boys  are  cu- 

114 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

rious  creatures.      Their   first    loves    are   always  wom- 
en— 

"  Finish  your  sentence,"  said  Lady  Con  way.  "  'Women 
old  enough  to  be  their  great-great-grandmothers.'  Well, 
there's  hope  for  us  all.  Men,  in  their  own  way,  are  creat- 
ures just  as  curious.  My  dear  man,"  she  continued,  "  I 
was  on  the  point  of  preaching  you  a  sermon,  but  I  won't. 
Just  wait  a  little,  and  I'll  show  you  that  I  can  do  bet- 
ter. At  what  hour  does  this  brilliant  function  begin? 
At  ten,  do  you  say?  Then  we'd  better  ring  for  coffee." 

The  rooms  in  which  the  ball  was  given  opened  from 
a  circular  hall,  where  members  of  the  committee  were 
signalizing  themselves  by  welcoming  the  more  important 
guests.  Lady  Conway,  the  moment  she  emerged  from 
the  cloak-room,  was  beset  by  official  gentlemen  orna- 
mented with  pink  rosettes.  Then  the  official  gentlemen 
were  reinforced  by  some  official  ladies,  foremost  among 
whom  was  Mrs.  Morriston  Campbell. 

"  It's  so  good  of  you  to  come,"  the  official  ladies  mur- 
mured —  an  assertion  which  Lady  Conway  delighted 
them  by  contradicting  flatly. 

"I  expect,"  said  Mrs.  Morriston  Campbell,  oozing 
with  abashed  importance,  "  you'll  find  many  people  here 
you  know.  I  saw  Lady  Grange  only  two  minutes  ago." 

"Where?"  said  Lady  Conway,  in  alarm;  and  then, 
turning  round  to  Sir  Rawlin,  "  Help  me,"  she  whispered, 
"  to  escape  from  that  most  horrible  of  all  old  hags.  But, 
wait  a  minute."  Her  eyes  meanwhile  had  strayed,  and, 
moving  forward,  she  captured  a  young  man  in  a  dazzling 
waistcoat,  who  was  patiently  parading  a  sense  of  su- 
periority to  the  general  company.  "Captain  Vansit- 
tart,"  she  said,  "I  want  to  have  one  word  with  you. 
I've  a  girl  coming  here  to-night  whom  I'm  anxious  to 
see  enjoying  herself.  I  want  you  to  dance  with  her  and 
get  her  some  decent  partners — young  and  beautiful  as 
yourself,  if  you  think  such  a  thing  is  possible.  You 
won't  regret  it.  Come  to  me  by-and-by  in  the  ball- 
room." 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

Captain  Vansittart,  on  seeing  her,  was  like  a  dead  man 
coming  to  life  again,  and  she  left  him  proclaiming  by 
his  carriage  that  he  had  not  been  born  in  vain. 

"And  now,"  she  said  to  Sir  Rawlin,  "what  shall  we 
dowagers  do  with  ourselves?  I'll  tell  you  what  you 
should  do.  Don't  be  tied  to  my  apron-strings,  but  go 
and  make  yourself  agreeable  to  every  antiquated  ob- 
ject, male  or  female,  that  you  can  put  a  name  to.  Ah, 
here  comes  Oswald.  Sir  Rawlin,  your  country  calls  you. 
Oswald,  my  dear  boy,  take  me  into  the  ball-room,  and 
tell  me  who  some  of  these  odd  specimens  are.  Where," 
she  went  on,  as  they  ensconced  themselves  in  a  bower  of 
palm-trees — "  where  is  that  pretty  little  cousin  of  yours  ?" 

"There  she  goes,"  said  Oswald.  "We  did  the  best 
we  could  for  her.  Her  partner  has  just  left  Eton — the 
son  of  a  decent  parson  here." 

Lady  Conway  followed  with  her  eyes  a  vision  in  black 
and  white,  whose  movements  were  as  exquisite  as  its 
millinery,  and  reduced  the  partner  of  its  progress  to  a 
hardly  distinguishable  accessory. 

"  Isn't  my  little  charge  quite  too  distracting  and  cap- 
tivating?" said  a  voice  in  her  ear,  as  Mr.  George  Carlton 
seated  himself. 

"You  must  bring  her  to  me,"  said  Lady  Conway, 
"when  this  performance  is  finished.  We'll  do  better 
for  her  presently." 

"I  see  some  one,"  said  Mr.  Carlton,  "from  whom  we 
must  protect  her  at  any  price — a  Colonel  Brian,  or 
O'Brian,  or  something.  He  has  a  daughter  who's  a 
friend  of  hers;  and  poor,  dear  Susie,  if  you  please,  who 
never  knew  anything  of  the  world,  actually  asked  him 
to  luncheon.  Just  watch  him.  He's  as  good  as  a  play 
— all  mustaches  and  perspiration.  Don't  speak  loud. 
He's  over  there,  quite  close  to  us,  and  some  brother 
monster  along  with  him." 

The  Colonel,  aggressively  conscious  of  his  shirt  and 
his  evening  coat,  was  addressing  his  companion  in  au- 
dible and  highly  vivacious  tones. 

116 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

"  You  don't  think  much  of  our  English  young  ladies — 
eh,  Count  ?  What  do  you  think  of  her — my  young  friend 
who  has  just  gone  by  ?" 

"You  know  her — what?"  exclaimed  the  other,  with  a 
light  in  his  protruding  eyes.  "Ah,  what  a  waist  and 
shoulders!  She's  just  like — how  do  you  call  it  ? — a  best 
girl  of  my  own  somewhere.  What's  her  name  ?  Vivian  ? 
Ah,  not  a  name  I  know.  And  yet,  if  she  weren't  so 
haughty,  I  tell  you  she'd  be  just  my  style.  If  you  really 
know  her,  mon  Colonel,  introduce  me.  Merely  because 
I  am  curious,  I  should  just  like  to  hear  her  talk." 

"  Really  know  her!"  said  the  Colonel.  "  Wait  a  bit  till 
you  see  me  whisking  her  round  the  room." 

"Oswald,"  said  Lady  Conway,  "do  you  see  that  tall 
Adonis  who  seems  to  be  chewing  the  cud  of  his  own  past 
successes?  It's  Captain  Vansittart.  Tell  him  I  want 
to  speak  to  him;  and  bring  your  cousin  to  me  the  mo- 
ment this  dance  is  ended.  I'm  determined,  George, 
that  that  child  shall  have  the  sort  of  evening  she  ought 
to  have.  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  Susie  lets  her 
talk  to  a  man  like  that?" 

Mr.  Carlton  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "By-the  way," 
he  said,  "  I  saw  in  the  hall  our  distinguished  member  as 
is  to  be,  quite  surrounded  by  a  posse  of  local  bigwigs. 
What  a  handsome  fellow  that  is!" 

"Yes,"  said  Lady  Conway,  "he's  as  handsome  as  a 
man  can  be  without  looking  a  fool  like  Captain  Vansit- 
tart; and  he's  not  a  fool  at  this  moment,  for  he's  fol- 
lowing my  own  advice  to  him." 

Sir  Rawlin,  indeed,  had  not  only  followed  her  advice, 
but  the  moment  he  saw  her  address  herself  to  Captain 
Vansittart  he  had  grasped  her  immediate  intentions,  and 
had  ceased  to  have  any  doubts  as  to  her  meaning.  He 
resented  such  interference  as  coming  from  a  woman  like 
her;  but  the  fact  that  even  to  her  it  seemed  necessary 
roused  his  own  scruples  into  life  again.  He  had  seen 
the  back  of  the  girl's  head  in  the  distance,  and  adjacent 
to  it  Mr.  Carlton's  wig.  He  had  turned  sharply  away. 

117 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

"At  all  events,  her  evening,"  he  thought,  "shall  not  be 
disturbed  by  me." 

The  resolution  thus  formed  he  carried  out  so  con- 
sistently that  till  long  past  midnight  he  did  not  even 
enter  the  ball-room.  Fate,  however,  was  a  creditor  which 
exacted  its  dues  at  last.  The  wife  of  the  high  sheriff, 
a  buxom  and  lively  lady,  made  it  impossible  for  him,  he 
being  a  good  though  unwilling  dancer,  not  to  do  by  her 
what  she  obviously  considered  to  be  his  duty;  and  the 
two  accordingly  added  themselves  to  the  medley  of 
revolving  couples.  As  white  shoulders  and  black,  as 
trousers  and  skirts  went  by  them,  she  had  no  time  to 
notice  that  he  had  suddenly  grown  grave  and  absent. 
At  last  he  was  aware  of  the  figure  which  he  had  thus  far 
been  so  scrupulously  avoiding.  Their  eyes  met  for  a 
moment.  Lady  Conway's  wisdom  had  faded  into  irrel- 
evant and  officious  folly. 

The  dance  ended,  and  with  a  dexterity  perhaps  some- 
what too  pronounced  he  deposited  his  lady  somewhere 
— he  was  not  very  sure  where,  except  that  it  was  near  a 
recess  like  a  magnified  bow-window,  at  the  aperture  of 
which,  leaning  against  a  tall  red  curtain,  Miss  Vivian 
stood  with  Captain  Vansittart  close  to  her.  The  young 
man,  who  had  the  air  of  completing  a  conquest  which 
was  at  least  begun,  was  practising  attitudes  indicative 
of  a  tender  monopoly.  "  I'm  awfully  sorry,"  he  was 
saying  to  her,  "that  I've  got  to  be  off  to-morrow,"  and 
was  hastening  to  add,  "  But  I  hope  we  shall  meet  in 
London,"  when,  in  the  middle  of  this  avowal,  he  was 
conscious  that  her  attention  wandered.  Her  eyes  lit  up. 
She  moved.  She  evidently  had  forgotten  his  existence. 

"  I  thought,"  she  said,  advancing  to  meet  Sir  Rawlin — 
"  I  thought  that  you  were  never  coming.  Here's  a  seat; 
or  where  will  that  passage  take  us?  I  believe  I  feel 
rather  tired.  Let  us  see  if  we  can't  rest  in  there." 

The  passage,  as  she  called  it,  had  originally  been  an 
open  arcade,  running  along  the  fagade  of  the  building 
between  two  protruding  wings,  but  now  it  was  glazed  in 

118 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

and  formed  a  kind  of  corridor.  At  the  end  of  it  were  two 
glass  doors.  Sir  Rawlin  pushed  them  open,  and  he  and 
his  companion  found  themselves  in  a  large  space,  where 
bands  had  at  one  time  played  in  the  open  air;  but  this, 
too,  like  the  arcade,  had  now  been  enclosed  by  glass  and 
been  turned  into  a  winter  garden.  The  middle  was  at 
present  occupied  by  a  number  of  long  rough  tables, 
evidently  prepared  for  a  flower-show.  Some  chairs  had 
been  arranged  for  such  persons  as  might  choose  to  use 
them,  but  nothing  else  had  been  done  to  attract  the 
company  of  to-night.  No  lamps  had  been  lighted,  and 
the  only  artificial  illumination  came  through  rose-colored 
curtains  from  the  shining  ball-room  within.  But  the 
lamps  were  not  missed.  The  whole  place  was  white  with 
moonlight,  and  the  open  sea  was  visible,  flickering 
through  the  transparent  walls.  The  whole  structure 
might  have  been  a  glass  ship  afloat  on  the  silvered  waters. 

Here  at  length  they  seated  themselves.  Sir  Rawlin 
watched  her  in  silence;  and,  softened  by  the  intervening 
windows,  the  air  from  "  Carmen"  came  to  them:  "Si  je 
t'aime,  prends  garde  a  toi."  The  ivory  whiteness  of  her 
dress,  emphasized  at  the  waist  and  shoulders  by  clear- 
cut  bands  of  blackness,  the  blackness  of  her  long  gloves, 
and  the  violets  dreaming  at  her  breast,  gave  her  the  air 
of  a  prenaturally  young  widow,  whose  vigil  was  at  the 
gates  of  the  future  rather  than  at  the  grave  of  the  past. 
He  tried  to  speak,  but  his  first  attempt  was  a  failure. 
Then  in  words,  the  most  commonplace  he  was  able  to 
muster,  he  asked  her  once  more  how  she  had  enjoyed  her 
evening. 

"  I'm  looking  at  the  sea,"  she  answered.  "  I  enjoy  the 
sea  much  better.  That  same  sea  glitters  in  the  Persian 
Gulf.  The  Nile  and  the  Ganges  and  the  Euphrates  all 
go  flowing  into  it.  Yes,  I  liked  the  dancing,  as  I  told 
you.  But  what  does  dancing  come  to?  It  makes  one 
want  the  depths  and  gives  one  only  the  shallows.  And 
you  have  seen  it  all — all  those  far-off  places  and  the 
ships  with  the  odd  sails  and  the  minarets  and  the  men 

119 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

with  turbans.  I  don't  want  to  talk.  Stay  by  me  and 
let  me  just  be  silent." 

She  leaned  her  chin  on  one  of  her  slim  black  hands,  and 
again  looked  out  over  the  water,  lost  in  her  own  reflec- 
tions. Sir  Rawlin  was  lost  in  reflections  of  his  own  like- 
wise. Memories  of  Lady  Conway's  unspoken  sermon 
came  back  to  him.  He  thought,  too,  of  Lord  Cotswold's 
words:  "A  child  like  that  is  never  a  child."  He  grew 
more  and  more  conscious  that,  however  unwelcome  in 
some  ways,  the  presence  of  a  chaperon  would  in  others 
be  very  desirable.  In  default  of  a  chaperon  he  brought 
out  a  cigarette.  A  moment  later  he  felt  he  had  been 
wise  in  doing  so.  The  doors  had  been  pushed  open,  and 
some  one  or  other  had  entered;  but  with  the  aid  of  his 
cigarette  he  managed  to  be  so  elaborately  natural  that 
he  did  not  even  turn  to  see  who  or  what  the  intruder 
was,  and  Miss  Vivian's  indifference  was  apparently  even 
more  absolute.  Sir  Rawlin,  indeed,  was  affecting  to  be 
occupied  with  the  course  of  a  moonlit  smoke-ring  when 
he  heard  a  voice  saying  to  him: 

"Well,  I  call  this  true  seclusion.  Your  discovery  of 
it  is  the  success  of  the  evening." 

Sir  Rawlin  looked  up,  and  before  him  was  Lady  Con- 
way,  with  a  flash  in  her  eyes,  half  humorous,  half  up- 
braiding. 

"I'm  sorry  to  disturb  you,"  she  went  on,  "but  all 
things  must  have  an  end,  even  seclusion;  and  this  young 
lady — I  speak  for  her  cousin  George — must  exchange 
the  quiet  of  a  ball  for  the  comparative  dissipation  of 
bed.  My  dear,"  she  said,  turning  to  the  girl,  "your 
carriage  has  been  called  already,  and  precious  Cousin 
George  will  be  in  hysterics  if  he's  kept  waiting." 

Miss  Vivian,  however,  still  comported  herself  as  if  she 
had  heard  nothing;  and  Lady  Conway,  unaccustomed 
to  such  behavior,  stooped  and  looked  curiously  into  her 
face.  It  was  the  face  of  one  who  was  either  asleep  with 
her  eyes  open,  or  who  else,  so  it  seemed  to  Lady  Conway, 
must  have  fainted  in  that  condition.  Lady  Conway 

120 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

knew,  for  her  knowledge  in  this  way  was  extensive,  that 
women,  and  especially  girls  with  little  experience,  do 
occasionally  faint  under  the  onslaughts  of  male  atten- 
tion; and  her  own  conception  of  love-making  being  very 
far  from  transcendental,  she  leaped  to  the  conclusion 
that  Sir  Rawlin,  by  some  crude  or  premature  liberty, 
had  succeeded  in  giving  a  violent  shock  to  one  who  had, 
to  say  the  least  of  it,  a  claim  on  his  discreet  forbearance. 
She  contemplated  the  girl  with  an  expression  that  grad- 
ually became  almost  tender.  At  last  she  stooped  again, 
and  lightly  kissed  her  forehead.  Then  turning  to  Sir 
Rawlin,  she  said,  in  a  changed  tone: 

"  I  hope  you  are  satisfied  with  your  work.  What 
have  you  been  trying  to  do  to  her  ?  But  I  know  men. 
I  needn't  ask.  It  will  be  better  for  your  own  character 
— hers  is  of  no  importance — if  she's  found  here  with  me 
alone.  We  may  have  to  call  a  doctor.  What  muddlers 
you  men  are!  You're  all  of  a  piece — all  of  you!" 

Sir  Rawlin  was  about  to  answer,  when  suddenly,  with 
a  brusque  movement,  Miss  Vivian  turned  round  to  him 
and  said: 

"Am  I  very  absent?" 

"  I'm  afraid  you  are,  my  dear,"  said  Lady  Conway's 
voice  behind  her,  "  and  I've  come  to  tell  you  that  Cousin 
George  is  particularly  anxious  that  you  should  be  pres- 
ent. You,  Sir  Rawlin,  quick,  go  and  find  Mr.  Carlton, 
and  tell  him  that  his  young  lady's  caught  and  will  be 
out  in  another  minute.  You  may  thank  your  stars," 
she  added,  following  him  for  a  few  paces,  "  that  nothing 
worse  has  come  of  this.  Don't  dawdle  about  and  make 
any  scene  at  parting,  but  drive  back  by  yourself  and  wait 
for  me  on  my  own  door-step.  I've  some  nice  little  things 
to  say  to  you." 

Not  very  long  afterward  the  echoes  of  Sir  Rawlin's 
crescent  were  roused  by  the  rumble  of  a  carriage,  and 
Lady  Conway  was  saying  to  her  footman:  "  Bring  some 
whiskey  and  a  siphon  into  the  dining-room,  and  wait 
up  for  ten  minutes  to  let  Sir  Rawlin  Stantor  out.  You 

121 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

see,"  she  continued,  when  the  dining-room  door  was 
closed,  "how  careful  I  am  of  that  treasure,  my  own 
good  name.  Frederick's  virginal  eyes  shall  be  satisfied 
that  you're  off  the  premises.  And  now  let  me  tell  you — 
But  come,  don't  stand.  Sit  down.  Let  me  tell  you — 

Sir  Rawlin,  however,  interrupted  her.  "Before  you 
tell  me,"  he  said,  "any  single  thing  of  any  kind,  let  me 
tell  you  something  first." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "Very  well,"  she  said; 
"tell  away,  then." 

"I  know,"  said  Sir  Rawlin,  looking  her  quietly  in  the 
face,  "what  you  assume  my  conduct  to  have  been.  I 
won't  quarrel  with  you  for  your  assumptions.  I  will 
content  myself  with  showing  you  that  they  are  wrong. 
Listen:  you  found  me  sitting  about  a  yard  away  from 
my  companion  —  a  safe  distance,  as  you  will  admit. 
Since  we  entered  that  place  and  were  alone  together  I 
had  not  been  an  inch,  or  a  fraction  of  an  inch,  nearer  to 
her.  Also  I  had  uttered  to  her  one  single  observation 
only,  which  was  to  the  effect  that  I  hoped  she  had  en- 
joyed her  evening.  The  condition  in  which  you  found 
her — I  was  quite  unaware  of  it  myself,  and  it  can  but 
have  lasted  for  a  minute  or  two — naturally  makes  you 
suspicious.  Let  me  tell  you  something  of  which  you 
cannot  possibly  be  aware.  Miss  Vivian,  ever  since  a 
serious  illness,  has  suffered  from  some  disorder  of  the 
nerves.  I  and  Lord  Cotswold  found  her  some  weeks  ago 
sitting  with  her  cousin,  Miss  Arundel,  on  one  of  the  pub- 
lic benches  in  a  state  much  the  same  as  that  in  which  she 
was  just  now.  The  cause  on  that  occasion  was  walking 
too  fast  uphill.  She  did  not  appear  to  be  asleep;  but 
I  spoke  to  her,  and  she  did  not  recognize  me,  and  a  few 
days  afterward  she  had  no  recollection  of  the  incident. 
If  you  doubt  me  you  can  ask  her  cousin,  her  aunt,  her 
doctor.  You  need,  therefore — "  he  went  on,  but  Lady 
Conway  stopped  him. 

"Come,"  she  said,  "I  won't  ask  you  for  references. 
Men  lie  so  often  that  I  know  when  they  don't  by  con- 

122 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

trast.  Indeed,  I  must  admit  that,  when  I  put  my 
precious  burden  into  her  carriage,  and  saw  that  she  look- 
ed disappointed  rather  than  discomposed,  I  began  to 
wonder  whether  I  might  not  be  less  right  than  I  usually 
am.  Have  some  whiskey  and  soda-water  to  show  that 
there's  no  ill-feeling,  and  also  to  keep  your  courage  up, 
for  I  haven't  done  with  you  yet.  Indeed,  I  may  tell 
you  candidly  that  I've  only  just  begun.  If  Frederick 
is  scandalized  we  must  sacrifice  his  salvation  to  yours. 
And  now,  how  can  I  manage  to  make  myself  most  odious  ?" 

Lady  Conway  seemed  to  be  struggling  with  conscien- 
tious and  unwonted  pains  for  the  highest  foothold  avail- 
able on  the  Sinai  of  serious  morals.  At  last  she  found 
it  in  the  shape  of  a  great  general  principle,  enunciating 
it  with  the  modesty  of  one  who  is  merely  laying  stress  on 
a  truism. 

"  Married  women,"  began  the  preacher,  "  are,  of  course, 
all  fair  game."  Her  sermon  having  been  once  started, 
the  rest  became  much  easier.  "  But,"  she  went  on, 
trenchantly,  "with  unmarried  girls  it's  different.  Not 
being  a  girl  myself,  I  can  afford  to  take  strict  views  for 
them.  In  love  as  in  war,  hit  those  of  your  own  size. 
Now  one  thing,  my  dear  man,  is  just  as  plain  as  a  pike- 
staff :  girls  —  even  girls  with  nerves  —  don't  faint  for 
nothing;  and,  though  I'll  admit  most  handsomely  that 
you  no  more  thought  of  touching  her  than  you  would 
have  done  had  she  been  the  Ark  of  the  Covenant,  she 
would  never  have  been  in  the  state  in  which  she  was  if 
it  hadn't  been — how  shall  I  put  it?  To  make  a  long 
story  short — and  you  ought  to  know  that  yourself — 
she's  head  over  ears  in  love  with  you,  or  she  will  be  if 
you  don't  prevent  it.  I  saw  it  the  other  day  when  she 
was  looking  at  those  drawings  of  yours.  Now  this — 
for  you're  not,  at  your  age,  going  to  take  a  bride  from 
the  school-room — would,  if  things  came  to  a  crisis,  put 
you  in  an  absurd  position.  I'm  speaking  of  yourself 
only.  I  shall  say  nothing  more  of  her.  Don't  you,  in 
all  sober  cynicism,  think  as  much  yourself?" 
o  123 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

"  Yes,"  said  Sir  Rawlin,  rather  grudgingly,  "  supposing 
you  to  be  right,  I  do." 

"  Boys,"  said  Lady  Conway,  "  can  do  anything  without 
making  themselves  ridiculous,  just  as  a  child  or  a  cat, 
without  so  much  as  shaking  itself,  can  have  a  tumble 
which  would,  if  we  had  it,  make  us  cripples  for  life;  and 
the  most  ridiculous  thing  which  a  mature  man  like  you, 
so  far  as  regards  himself,  can  do  to  any  woman  is  to  raise 
expectations  in  her  which  he  is  not  prepared  to  satisfy. 
We  know  this  from  the  immortal  Joseph ;  and  it's  doubly 
true  when  the  woman  in  question  is  a  girl.  It  would, 
indeed,  be  a  delightful  thing  for  our  distinguished  Con- 
servative candidate  to  add  to  his  other  credentials  the 
reputation  in  Southquay  circles  of  breaking  the  heart 
of  a  chit  hardly  out  of  her  short  frocks,  and  restoring  her 
to  a  condition  of  hysterics  from  which  she  had  just  es- 
caped. Of  course,  I'm  exaggerating.  The  young  lady 
is  very  much  grown  up.  I  don't  want  to  frighten  you. 
I  want  to  prepare  you  for  the  consolations  of  reason. 
Love,  with  a  girl  like  this,  is  very  much  like  a  cold:  it's 
easily  cured  if  the  cure  is  applied  in  time.  Now,  the 
question  is,  what's  to  be  the  cure  in  your  case  ?  As  you 
can't  go  away  like  JEneas — for  that's  out  of  the  question 
— whatever  you  do,  don't  pull  her  up  short.  That  would 
precipitate  a  crisis,  which  is  just  what  you  want  to  avoid. 
See  her  as  much  as  you  please.  Take  a  deeper  and 
deeper  interest  in  her.  That,  I  suppose,  is  the  way  in 
which  you  would  wish  me  to  express  myself.  But — 
listen  now,  for  I'm  going  to  confide  to  you  a  patent  pre- 
scription of  my  own — let  the  interest  be  of  a  kind  which 
will  gradually  make  her  think  you  a  bore.  For  example, 
she's  coming  to  this  f£te  to-morrow.  As  soon  as  your 
speech  is  over,  take  her  to  all  the  side-shows.  Treat  her 
as  if  she  were  an  ordinary  child.  There's  one  hint;  and 
here  is  a  very  much  better  one:  I've  just  had  a  letter 
from  my  dear  old  friend  Dr.  Thistlewood,  telling  me  that 
he's  here  and  has  consented  to  give  a  lecture  at  some 
local  scientific  institute.  Insist  on  her  going  to  that; 

124 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

talk  to  her  about  it  afterward;  and  never  use  a  word,  if 
you  can  help  it,  of  less  than  thirteen  syllables.  When 
you're  not  treating  her  as  a  child,  treat  her  as  if  you 
hoped  that  some  day  she'd  be  the  mistress  of  a  high- 
school.  I  doubt  if  the  profoundest  passion  in  the  heart 
of  sweet  seventeen  would  survive  for  many  weeks  a 
really  high-minded  devotion  such  as  that.  I  find,  when 
I  look  into  your  case,  that  your  ways  of  salvation  mul- 
tiply. And  now,  good-night.  Frederick  shall  be  tried 
no  longer.  The  devil's  quotations  from  Scripture  must, 
if  necessary,  be  continued  in  our  next." 


CHAPTER   IV 

'T'HAT  same  night,  as  the  late  train  from  London 
1  was  slackening  its  pace  among  the  outlying  hills 
of  Southquay,  a  man  in  a  second-class  carriage  was 
standing  bolt-upright,  in  order  to  spell  out  a  letter  by 
the  lamp  that  burned  above  him.  He  was  dressed  in 
black,  he  was  tall,  and  a  cord  was  round  his  low-crowned 
hat.  This  man  was  Mr.  Barton,  released  at  last  from  the 
duties  which  for  the  past  fortnight  had  been  engrossing 
him.  The  letter  was  from  Lady  Susannah.  It  had  only 
reached  him  that  morning,  and  the  larger  part  of  it  was 
taken  up  with  a  request  that,  as  he  was  staying  at  the 
house  of  his  order  in  Westminster,  he  would  do  some- 
thing or  other  for  her  at  the  Army  and  Navy  Stores. 
Now,  however,  on  rereading  it,  he  had  perceived  for  the 
first  time  that  over  the  page  there  was  a  postscript,  and  this 
it  was  that  absorbed  him  at  the  present  moment.  With 
some  difficulty  he  was  spelling  out  the  following  words : 

"  You  will  be  glad  to  hear  that  Nest,  since  you  went  away, 
has  been  very  much  better — enjoying,  amusing,  and  interesting 
herself  just  as  we  wished  she  should  do.  We  have  often  seen 
Sir  Rawlin,  who  has  really  been  very  kind,  taking  her  and  Hugo 
to  the  golf-course.  She  is  going  with  us  all  to  the  Constitutional 
Fete  to  hear  him  make  his  opening  speech;  and  to-morrow  my 
cousin,  George  Carlton,  is  taking  her  to  the  Mid-Lent  ball,  where 
he  and  Lady  Conway  will  be  sure  to  get  a  few  partners  for  her." 

Mr.  Barton,  with  a  sigh,  thrust  the  letter  into  his 
pocket.  "A  ball!"  he  murmured  to  himself.  "I  had 
never  looked  forward  to  that.  And  this  Lady  Conway 
—Lady  Conway — what  has  she  to  do  with  the  matter?" 

The  road  from  Southquay  station  to  the  town  runs 

126 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

along  a  curve  of  shore,  and  clusters  of  house-clad  hills, 
with  all  their  constellated  lights,  were  framed  by  the 
window  of  his  closed  fly  as  he  peered  through  it.  The 
lights  generally  lay  sparse  on  the  darkness  of  the  noc- 
turnal gardens,  but  out  on  a  spur  of  rock  the  Bath 
Saloons  were  blazing,  and  were  sending  shining  streaks 
into  the  glass  of  the  intervening  waters.  Mr.  Barton's 
own  way  would  take  him  close  to  this  group  of  buildings. 
The  road  at  that  point  was  steep,  and,  as  his  vehicle  was 
slowly  laboring  up  it,  he  told  the  driver  to  drop  him, 
saying  that  he  would  follow  on  foot. 

He  stood  for  some  minutes  motionless  on  the  blanched 
pavement,  and  stared  at  the  buildings  opposite  him, 
from  which  snatches  of  music  issued.  He  was  not  a  man 
whom  his  asceticism  with  regard  to  himself  had  ever 
rendered  censorious  with  regard  to  the  amusements  of 
others.  He  had,  though  he  had  never  attended  balls 
personally,  been  accustomed  to  accept  them  as  incidents 
of  ordinary  social  intercourse ;  but  now  his  solicitude  for 
one  particular  soul  caused  him  to  regard  them  with  a 
pang  of  desolating  jealousy,  as  though  everything  most 
remote  from  the  welfare  of  souls  were  incarnate  in  them. 
At  last  he  was  roused  by  the  sound  of  a  policeman's 
tread,  and,  aching  with  a  vague  disquiet,  he  unwillingly 
moved  away. 

When  he  reached  his  own  house,  where  he  forced  him- 
self to  eat  a  mouthful  or  two,  his  mind  was  still  in  the 
same  state  of  tension.  Restlessly  pacing  to  and  fro  in 
his  library,  he  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  heads  of  his  Italian 
saints — images  of  spiritual  passion — which  were  hung 
by  wires  against  his  book-shelves;  and  the  expression 
of  each  face,  as  he  contemplated  it,  seemed  to  repeat  it- 
self in  his  own.  Then,  carrying  his  one  light  with  him, 
he  betook  himself  to  the  smaller  room  into  which  his 
library  opened,  and  there,  having  paused  in  front  of  the 
bare  oak  table,  which,  as  Sir  Rawlin  had  noticed,  was 
evidently  employed  as  a  prie-dieu,  he  sank  down,  kneel- 
ing on  the  stool  which  stood  before  it. 

127 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

Prayer,  as  commonly  understood,  is  the  preferring  of 
some  definite  supplication,  or,  perhaps,  some  definite  act 
of  confession  and  devout  resolve.  With  men  like  Mr. 
Barton  it  is  a  prolonged  spiritual  drama,  more  real  in  its 
opulent  adventures  than  anything  that  is  called  reality. 
Before  his  eyes  at  first  there  was  only  an  unfathomed 
darkness;  but  he  knew  the  ways  of  that  night,  his  in- 
ward gaze  was  patient  with  it,  and  gradually  in  its  un- 
charted depth  a  something  began  to  flicker.  It  was 
vague  when  it  first  showed  itself,  but  quickly  grew  more 
distinct,  till  it  turned  into  a  face  like  a  cameo,  pale 
against  its  dark  matrix,  but  it  differed  from  a  cameo  in 
exhibiting  the  texture  and  the  tints  of  life.  Its  eyes,  as 
he  scanned  their  depths,  seemed  to  know  and  to  seek 
him,  and  to  penetrate  him  with  their  responding  gaze. 
He  saw  in  them  that  sorrowful  knowledge  of  all  human 
sorrows  with  which  a  remote  Omniscience  has  enriched 
itself  by  stooping  to  man's  experience.  The  longer  he 
looked — and  he  now  lost  count  of  time — the  expression 
of  his  face  grew  deeper,  as  though  all  these  sorrows  ac- 
cumulated were  fulfilling  themselves  at  the  same  mo- 
ment in  a  single  forlorn  heart.  Mr.  Barton's  own  heart 
seemed  to  him  to  leap  forward,  and  to  adore  and  also  to 
expostulate  with  the  condescension  of  the  Divine  Suffer- 
er; and  at  last  the  assaults  of  his  love,  as  his  spiritual 
teachers  would  have  called  them,  began  to  work  their 
wonder.  They  began  to  produce  a  transformation  in 
the  aspect  of  the  Lord  Himself.  The  agonized  face 
softened  into  a  sort  of  semi-obscurity.  Then  it  began 
to  reform  itself,  and  as  it  reformed  itself  it  was  changed. 
The  Christ  of  history,  with  His  spasm  of  earthly  life, 
had  given  place  to  the  Christ  that  is  beyond  time,  to  the 
Reason  eternal  by  which  all  the  worlds  exist,  to  the 
eternal  and  delectable  Beauty  which  is  the  Bridegroom 
of  the  spousal  soul.  Just  as  the  eyes  at  first  had  been 
the  eyes  of  all  sorrows,  they  were  now  the  eyes  of  that 
Love,  out-passioning  passion,  which,  for  those  who  di- 
rectly experience  it  will,  as  all  the  saints  declare,  so  fill 

128 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

the  soul  with  beatitude  that  sorrow  has  no  room  left 
for  it. 

Mr.  Barton  felt  as  if  his  whole  being  were  taking  wings, 
and,  like  "the  little  lonely  dove,"  as  St.  Francis  de  Sales 
calls  the  enraptured  spirit,  were  about  to  mount  to  the 
bosom  of  the  celestial  Loveliness.  But  something  held 
him  back,  and  he  heard  a  voice  saying  to  him:  "  I  am 
ready  for  you,  Theophilus.  What  keeps  you  from  me  ?" 
Mr.  Barton's  head  sank  lower.  "Lord,"  he  heard  him- 
self answer,  "  do  Thou  read  my  thoughts ;  or  let  me  speak 
them  to  myself  on  this  wise,  and  Thou  shalt  hear  me. 
The  Shepherd  who  gave  His  life  for  the  sheep  of  all  His 
folds  carried  one  lamb  on  His  shoulders.  One  disciple 
was  distinguished  among  all  the  rest  as  the  beloved  one. 
If  one  of  the  Master's  disciples,  a  humble  shepherd  him- 
self, were  to  come  into  his  Master's  presence  bearing  a 
lamb  likewise — a  lamb  who  might  have  else  been  lost — 
would  the  Master  say  to  him,  '  Depart  and  come  not  near 
me,  because  thou  hast  been  overheedful  of  that  which 
is  not  I'  ?  Lord,  even  to  myself  I  dare  to  breathe  no 
more."  Having  said  this,  he  felt  himself  transformed 
into  one  act  of  listening,  his  suspense  being  that  of  a 
man  whose  neck  is  beneath  the  guillotine ;  and  by-and- 
by  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  divine  voice  answered:  "  My 
son,  do  not  fear  to  look  at  Me.  As  thou  art  present  in 
My  heart,  so  let  her  be  in  thine.  Bring  thy  lamb  to  Me 
that  she  may  be  in  My  heart  also." 


CHAPTER   V 

MR..  BARTON  was  in  many  ways  a  very  sensible 
man.  However  high  he  might  lift  himself  above 
the  levels  of  ordinary  existence,  he  felt,  when  he  came 
down  to  them,  no  false  shame  or  difficulty  in  resuming 
the  moods  and  judgments  proper  to  life's  daily  business. 
Accordingly,  when  he  awoke  next  morning,  his  solici- 
tude with  regard  to  Miss  Vivian,  although  it  was  undimin- 
ished,  assumed  a  more  practical  character.  He  recol- 
lected that  she  would  in  the  afternoon  be  present  at  the 
political  fete,  and  he  resolved  to  attend  this  himself, 
in  the  hopes,  not  merely  of  meeting  her,  but  also  of  ob- 
serving her  demeanor — especially,  so  he  caught  himself 
thinking,  her  demeanor  toward  Sir  Rawlin  Stantor. 

By  three  o'clock,  the  hour  at  which  the  fete  opened, 
the  Bath  Saloons  had  transfigured  themselves.  The  great 
ball-room  was  hung  with  flags  and  patriotic  mottoes. 
Here,  at  half-past  three,  Sir  Rawlin  and  others  were  to 
speak;  and  then,  when  the  speaking  was  over,  sight- 
seeing, gayety,  refreshments,  and  all  kinds  of  music  were 
to  give  wings  to  the  moments  till  eleven  o'clock  at  night. 
In  one  of  the  smaller  rooms  Punch  would  delight  the 
young.  In  another,  a  lady  mesmerist  would  mingle  mirth 
with  mystery.  In  another,  penny  portraits  would  be 
taken  by  magnesium  light.  Flowers  and  vegetables 
would  be  exhibited  in  the  winter-garden. 

When  the  party  from  Cliff's  End  arrived  and  were 
provided  by  a  steward  with  chairs  in  the  front  row,  the 
speakers  were  already  on  the  platform,  flanked  or  backed 
by  rows  of  influential  or  ornamental  personages.  Among 
these  Lady  Conway,  in  sables,  held  a  foremost  place,  her 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

face  calm  with  a  sort  of  disdainful  assurance,  which  made 
the  failure  of  any  cause  associated  with  herself  seem 
incredible. 

"Yours,"  she  said  to  Sir  Rawlin,  when  the  oratorical 
performances  were  over,  "was  a  capital  speech  —  a 
magnificent  speech.  I  hope  you've  not  forgotten  mine. 
Wait  for  a  moment,  and  I'll  deliver  it  over  again  to  you. 
There  is  Miss  Nest.  Come  here,  my  dear.  Where  did 
you  get  that  hat  ?  Let  me  look  at  you.  You've  quite 
recovered,  I  see.  Well,  I  took  you  away  last  night  from 
a  very  great  deal  of  wisdom;  and  now  Sir  Rawlin  has 
been  giving  you  such  a  large  additional  dose  of  it  that 
you  haven't — he's  afraid,  and  so  am  I — taken  in  more 
than  half.  He's  particularly  anxious  to  explain  to  you 
what  he  meant  about  popular  education,  and  if  that  is 
too  frivolous  a  subject  for  you  he'll  take  you  to  '  Punch 
and  Judy.' ' 

Half  an  hour  afterward  a  man  with  anxious  eyes,  who 
had  been  making  his  way  through  the  crowd,  which  by 
this  time  was  in  general  motion,  had  suddenly  pushed 
himself  forward  in  the  direction  of  a  tall  lady.  Close 
to  the  tall  lady  was  a  small  and  very  neat  gentleman 
who,  whenever  those  about  him  collided  with  his  im- 
maculate garments,  was  making  resigned  grimaces,  as 
though  he  were  bathing  in  a  sea  too  rough  for  him. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  Mr.  Carlton,  "it  is  really  too 
nice  to  see  you  again.  Susie,  Mr.  Barton  is  speaking  to 
you." 

Mr.  Barton's  face  was  now  all  smiles  and  friendliness. 
Information  and  questions  flowed  from  him,  and  at  last 
he  expressed  a  hope  that  Miss  Vivian  was  feeling  none  the 
worse  for  her  ball. 

"No,"  said  Lady  Susannah,  "she  was  here  a  minute 
ago.  She  was  with  Sir  Rawlin  Stantor;  but  really  in  a 
crowd  like  this  there's  no  keeping  together." 

"Indeed  there  is  not,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  who  with 
very  considerable  skill,  was  allowing  three  young  women 
clutching  one  another  by  the  hand  to  thrust  him  back 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

into  independence.  In  another  moment  Lady  Susannah 
was  lost,  and  Mr.  Barton's  eyes  were  searching  again  for 
the  object  which  alone  interested  him.  But  everywhere 
he  looked  in  vain  for  it.  It  seemed  to  be  eluding  him 
like  an  object  pursued  in  dreams. 

Sir  Rawlin,  meanwhile,  with  a  sufficiently  good  grace, 
had  been  following  Lady  Conway's  policy,  the  wisdom 
of  which  he  recognized,  although  he  resented  its  necessity ; 
and  he  found  it  in  practice  both  easier  and  more  pleasant 
than  he  had  anticipated.  He  had  let  himself  down  to 
the  level  of  mere  good-fellowship,  and  his  young  com- 
panion had  thus  far  appeared  to  desire  no  more.  Noth- 
ing, indeed,  had  troubled  them  but  a  growing  conscious- 
ness of  the  crowd.  They  would  otherwise  have  actually 
entered  the  room  where  Punch  was  squeaking.  This, 
however,  as  they  saw  at  the  door,  was  packed;  but  an- 
other door,  not  far  from  it,  allured  them  by  its  agreeable 
contrast.  Here,  as  a  card  announced,  admission  was 
one  shilling,  and  the  persons  who  entered  were  few  and 
far  between.  Across  the  door  were  the  words:  "  Madame 
Levy,  the  Renowned  Mesmerist." 

"Come,"  said  Miss  Vivian,  "do  let  us  go  in  here.  I 
see  Cousin  George  in  the  distance.  We  will  vanish 
before  he  catches  us." 

Their  shillings,  at  all  events,  procured  them  sufficient 
quiet.  The  room  was  large,  and  there  were  but  fifty 
people  in  it.  Sir  Rawlin  and  Miss  Vivian  seated  them- 
selves on  one  of  the  back  benches.  Madame  Levy,  a 
lady  with  black  and  apparently  rather  humid  hair,  was 
finishing  a  discourse  about  will-currents  and  vital  fluids, 
and  then  invited  any  one — the  more  sceptical  he  might 
be,  the  better — to  mount  the  platform  and  put  her 
powers  to  the  test. 

"  I  can't  do  every  one,"  she  said,  "but  if  you  find  me 
fail  with  some  my  success  with  others  will  be  all  the 
more  remarkable.  I  should  like  to  begin  with  a  gentle- 
man who  disbelieves  in  me — a  gentleman  with  a  great, 
strong  will  who  will  resist  my  influence.  What!  How 

132 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

is  this?  Is  there  no  gentleman  with  a  will  so  strong 
that  he  is  not  afraid  to  try  me?" 

This  appeal  elicited  a  gentleman  of  Wesleyan  appear- 
ance, who  mounted  the  platform  like  a  saint  defying  an 
imitation  Satan.  He  submitted  himself  gallantly  to 
Madame  Levy's  requirements,  and  five  minutes  later  he 
was  dancing  a  clumsy  hornpipe,  his  lips  grinning  and  his 
frock-coat  on  the  ground.  The  shouts  of  merriment 
which  greeted  his  return  to  consciousness  alone  made 
him  suspect  that  he  had  not  merely  closed  his  eyes. 
Other  voluntary  victims — most  of  them  young  men — 
succeeded  him,  and  most  of  them  with  like  results. 
One  of  them  smoked  a  pencil;  another  rocked  a  chair, 
tenderly  watching  a  hat  on  it,  as  though  it  were  a  baby 
in  a  cradle;  and  another,  like  a  baby  himself,  went 
crawling  on  all-fours. 

"Do  you  think,"  said  Miss  Vivian,  unable  to  forbear 
from  laughing,  "  that  all  this  is  really  genuine,  or  are 
these  people  her  accomplices?" 

"No,  no,"  said  Sir  Rawlin.  "It's  genuine  enough  in 
its  way.  The  old  gentleman  who  went  up  first  is  one  of 
my  own  supporters." 

"Then,"  said  Miss  Vivian,  with  a  slight  grimace,  "  I'm 
not  sure  that  I  like  it.  It  makes  one  laugh,  of  course, 
but,  after  all,  it's  rather  degrading." 

"  That  young  lady  is  right,"  said  a  man's  voice  behind 
her  —  a  voice  whose  quiet  authority  had  something 
slightly  foreign  in  its  emphasis.  At  the  same  moment 
Sir  Rawlin  felt  a  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  both  of  them, 
turning  round,  were  aware  of  the  presence  of  Lord  Cots- 
wold,  and  also  of  some  one  who  was  standing  by  him — 
the  solitary  watcher  of  the  pier. 

"And  so,"  said  Lord  Cotswold  to  Miss  Vivian,  "you 
won't  wait  for  our  mysteries.  You  are  studying  the 
black  art  for  yourself.  Rawlin,  let  me  introduce  you  to 
Dr.  Thistle  wood.  My  dear  fellow,  we  were  late  for  your 
speech.  They  tell  me  it  was  quite  magnificent.  My 
distinguished  friend  here  was  very  anxious  to  hear  you." 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

He  looked  toward  the  place  where  Dr.  Thistlewood 
had  just  been  standing,  but  Dr.  Thistlewood  was  there 
no  longer.  Without  waiting  for  an  introduction,  he  had 
slipped  into  a  chair  next  Miss  Vivian,  and  was  saying 
to  her: 

"  I  was  delighted  with  your  criticism.  A  show  like 
this  is  an  insult  to  human  nature." 

His  manner  was  the  manner  of  a  man  familiar  with 
all  societies  and  accustomed  to  be  a  personage  in  all. 
It  was  especially  that  of  a  man  accustomed  to  deal  with 
women,  though  there  was  in  it  no  trace  of  any  amatory 
or  sentimental  enterprise.  His  eyes,  as  he  fixed  them 
on  Miss  Vivian's,  gave  her  the  impression  that  he  was 
looking  through  her,  as  through  a  telescope,  at  some- 
thing else  beyond. 

"  Yes,"  he  went  on,  in  a  tone  of  pleasant  and  respect- 
ful intimacy,  "  a  show  like  this  degrades — "  She  thought 
he  was  going  to  say  "its  victims."  He  did  not.  "De- 
grades," he  said,  "in  the  popular  mind,  the  commonest 
facts  of  science  into  a  trick,  or,  still  worse,  into  a  miracle. 
It  would  be  just  as  rational  to  give  a  man  an  emetic  in 
public,  and  invite  spectators  either  to  giggle  or  to  gape 
at  the  effects  of  it.  Experiments  of  this  kind  are, 
in  particular  cases,  sometimes  necessary  as  tests.  The 
other  day  I  was  testing  the  accuracy  with  which  an  hys- 
terical woman,  a  housemaid,  carried  out  unlikely  in- 
structions given  her  when  in  a  state  of  hypnosis.  I  am 
not,  I  think,  wrong  in  supposing  you  to  be  the  young 
lady  who  told  Lord  Cotswold  that  she  had  seen  me 
watching  a  ghost.  Perhaps  you  think — as  half  the  peo- 
ple in  this  room  do — that  what  is  often  still  called  mes- 
merism has  something  to  do  with  spirits." 

Miss  Vivian  responded  in  a  tone  of  not  disrespectful 
flippancy.  "You  don't,  then,"  she  said,  "believe  in 
spiritualism?  I  was  rather  fancying  that  you  did." 

Dr.  Thistlewood  laughed.  "Naturalism,"  he  an- 
swered, "  if  you  know  what  I  mean  by  the  word,  is  far 
fuller  of  wonders  than  what  these  savages  of  to-day  call 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

spiritualism.  The  first  experimenter  who  ever  got  an 
electric  shock  could  only  suppose  that  it  was  produced 
by  a  devil  who  had  hidden  himself  in  a  bottle.  The 
spiritualists  of  to-day  reason  just  as  he  did.  My  dear 
Miss  Vivian — for  that,  I'm  sure,  is  your  name — every- 
thing is  spiritual,  or  nothing  is.  Nothing  is  a  miracle, 
or  else  everything." 

Dr.  Thistlewood  was  beginning  to  interest  her.  At 
the  same  time  his  words  and  manner  produced  in  her  an 
obscure  uneasiness. 

"Now,"  she  said,  determining  not  to  be  discomposed, 
"you  are  taking  me  out  of  my  depth;  but  in  one  thing 
at  least  I  may  agree  with  you  without  presumption. 
The  idiotic  young  lady  who  watched  you  was  myself  and 
nobody  else.  I'm  glad,  for  her  own  sake,  that  she 
caught  you  at  nothing  wrong,  or  you  might  be  giving 
her  some  aqua-Toffana,  to  rid  yourself  of  a  disagreeable 
witness." 

"  Ah,  Lord  Cotswold  —  after  all  those  years  —  Lord 
Cotswold!"  said  a  well-known  voice  —  Mr.  Carlton's 
voice — behind  her,  "  it's  a  century  since  we  met.  Fancy 
finding  you  here!  I  do  hope  this  distressing  nonsense 
is  over — so  superstitious  and  vulgar.  Ah,  here  come 
all  the  family  in  search  of  the  lost  lamb.  Susie,  she's 
here.  Don't  let  them  make  you  pay.  Happily,  there's 
nothing  to  pay  for.  Come  in,  Mr.  Barton;  drive  the 
spirits  away,  if  they  haven't  all  gone  already.  And  look 
here,  Susie — why,  this  is  quite  a  reunion — Lord  Cots- 
wold, I  think  you  must  have  met  her.  He  won't  ask 
when,  for  fear  it  should  have  been  in  the  year  one.  This 
is  my  cousin,  Lady  Susannah  Lipscombe." 

Mr.  Carlton,  while  he  spoke,  had,  with  a  courtly 
though  nervous  amity,  placed  one  hand  on  the  astrakhan 
of  Lord  Cotswold' s  cuff  and  another  on  the  limp  silk  of 
Lady  Susannah's,  and  drew  the  two  parties  together  as 
if  he  proposed  to  marry  them.  He  was  gratified  by  the 
success  of  his  diplomacy.  Lady  Susannah  succumbed 
at  once  to  the  magic  of  Lord  Cotswold' s  manner — a  man- 

135 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

ner  which  seemed  to  render  all  past  misdemeanors  fab- 
ulous— and  was  presently  so  far  committing  herself  as  to 
comment  on  the  indisputable  fact  that  he  and  she  were 
almost  next-door  neighbors. 

Mr.  Barton  meanwhile  had  been  looking  about  him 
curiously — now  at  the  mesmerist  on  the  platform,  whose 
performances  for  the  time  were  over ;  now  at  Lord  Cots- 
wold  and  Dr.  Thistlewood,  wondering  who  they  were. 
Dr.  Thistlewood,  in  particular,  with  the  careless  self- 
confidence  of  his  bearing,  excited  his  close  attention. 
That  Miss  Vivian  should  be  so  engrossed  in  the  conver- 
sation of  this  striking  stranger  was  not  in  itself  pleasing 
to  him.  But  that  a  stranger  should  be  able  to  entertain 
her  as  well  as,  or  even  better  than,  Sir  Rawlin,  did  much 
to  relieve  his  mind;  and  while  waiting  to  approach  her, 
as  he  was  now  impatient  to  do,  he  found  that  he  was 
able  to  greet  Sir  Rawlin  himself,  not,  indeed,  very 
effusively,  but  with  a  reserve  that  was  not  obtrusive. 

"I  hear,"  he  said,  "that  you've  completed  a  remark- 
able sale  of  property." 

"Yes,"  said  Sir  Rawlin,  without  a  sign  of  embarrass- 
ment. "  I  hope  I  shall  have  been  the  means  of  giving 
you  some  very  interesting  neighbors.  They  are  Bene- 
dictines, and  they  will,  unless  I  am  misinformed,  bring 
with  them  a  library  second  only  to  that  of  the  Vatican." 

For  a  single  moment  Mr.  Barton's  eyes  sparkled;  but 
before  he  had  time  for  any  answer  other  than  a  sarcastic 
cough,  the  affairs  of  the  group  were  thrown  into  some 
confusion  by  a  rustle  of  expensive  materials  and  a  new 
voice  that  accompanied  it. 

"  Now,  where  is  the  man  of  all  men  whom  I  most  wish 
to  see?"  The  words  were  Lady  Conway's.  "Ah,  there 
the  traitor  is!  My  dear  child,"  she  went  on,  coming  up 
to  Miss  Vivian,  "  you  happily  don't  want  a  doctor,  even 
after  last  night.  I  do.  I  bought  a  villa  at  Naples  mere- 
ly to  be  near  this  one,  and  before  my  carpets  are  down 
the  abominable  creature  goes." 

Miss  Vivian,  though  she  looked  at  Lady  Conway  with 
136 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

eyes  of  somewhat  doubtful  friendship,  showed  no  in- 
clination to  stand  in  her  way  now.  She  rose  at  once, 
and  Mr.  Barton  was  at  once  beside  her.  To  his  in- 
finite delight  she  met  him  with  her  old  cordiality,  and 
instinctively  moved  away  with  him  to  a  spot  where 
their  words  would  be  unheard  by  others.  He  told  her 
that  during  his  absence  he  had  wished  to  write  to  her 
about  many  things,  and  that  she  and  her  welfare  had 
never  been  out  of  his  mind,  which  observations,  hurried 
and  subdued  as  they  were,  were  received  by  her  with 
a  comprehending  acknowledgment  almost  beyond  his 
hopes.  She,  at  all  events,  was  not  lost  to  him,  and  the 
bitterest  of  his  anxieties  being  thus  more  or  less  at  an 
end,  he  began  to  assume  something  of  his  old  position 
as  her  adviser. 

"And  so,"  he  said,  "I  hear  you  were  last  night  at  a 
ball.  I  confess  that,  when  we  talked  about  a  little  social 
amusement  for  you,  I  was  hardly  thinking  about  balls, 
and  still  less  was  I  thinking  about  exhibitions  of  such 
idle  quackery  as  mesmerism." 

"I  agree  with  you,"  replied  Miss  Vivian,  "as  I  was 
just  now  saying  to  Sir  Rawlin,  that  this  exhibition  is 
very  stupid.  But  mesmerism,  after  all,  isn't  mere  non- 
sense like  spiritualism.  It's  merely  a  kind  of  doctoring 
done  on  a  public  stage." 

"Pardon  me,"  returned  Mr.  Barton.  "You  have  got 
the  case  upside  down.  The  phenomena  of  spiritualism, 
though  in  most  cases  they  are  fraudulent,  are  undoubt- 
edly sometimes  genuine,  and  are,  as  the  Church  recog- 
nizes, the  work  of  evil  spirits  —  or  spirits,  to  say  the 
least  of  it,  with  whom  Christians  have  no  license  to  trifle. 
But  this  mesmerism  is  quackery  pure  and  simple.  It's 
curious  how  people  who  won't  believe  in  God  are  the 
first  people  to  believe  in  imaginary  and — as  they  call 
them — occult  powers  of  the  body  or  the  human  will. 
Who,  by-the-way,  brought  you  here — that  man  whom 
I  saw  you  talking  to?" 

"Do  you  mean,"  said  Miss  Vivian,  answering  one 

137 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

question  with  another — "  do  you  mean  Dr.  Thistlewood 
— the  man  of  whom  Lady  Conway  has  so  very  complete- 
ly possessed  herself?" 

"Dr.  Thistlewood!"  echoed  Mr.  Barton.  "Can  that 
man  be  Dr.  Thistlewood  ?  And  do  you  mean  to  tell  me 
that  you  yourself  have  been  making  his  acquaintance? 
Yes,  it  undoubtedly  must  be.  I  recognize  him  from  his 
pictures  in  the  newspapers.  Do  you  know  who  Dr. 
Thistlewood  is?  One  of  the  most  notorious  sceptics  in 
Europe,  and,  I  can  well  believe,  one  of  the  most  super- 
stitious also.  And  is  that  Lady  Conway — the  woman 
whom  one  always  reads  about  ?  How  has  all  this  hap- 
pened? How  do  you  come  to  be  knowing  people  like 
these?  And  the  other  man,  with  a  fur  collar,  who  re- 
minds me  of  a  mediaeval  wizard — they  all  three  seem 
very  intimate — is  he,  may  I  ask,  one  of  your  new  ac- 
quaintances also?" 

"Oh,"  said  Miss  Vivian,  looking  over  her  shoulder, 
"I  suppose  you  must  mean  Lord  Cotswold." 

"Lord  Cotswold!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Barton.  "This  is 
better  and  better.  You  remember  what  was  said  about 
Lord  Cotswold  at  your  aunt's  table  the  other  day.  I 
congratulate  you  on  your  company.  Do  you  owe  it  to 
your  friend,  Sir  Rawlin?  Alas,"  he  said,  shrugging  his 
shoulders  and  taking  out  his  watch,  "  I  must  go.  I've 
a  service  at  half-past  five.  My  dear  child,"  he  said,  re- 
suming his  natural  manner,  "  if  all  this  dissipation  is  not 
distracting  your  thoughts  too  much,  I  ought  to  come 
very  soon  and  begin  our  talks  about  confirmation.  Will 
you  or  your  aunt  write  me  a  line  and  let  me  know  when 
to  call  on  you — to-morrow,  perhaps,  or  the  day  after?" 

"Sir  Rawlin,"  said  Lady  Conway,  "come  here.  I 
want  to  have  a  word  with  you  in  private.  Dr.  Thistle- 
wood's  lecture  is  to  be  on  Friday.  There  won't  be  a 
word  in  it  under  thirteen  syllables.  Insist  on  your  young 
lady  being  brought  to  that.  You  can  arrange  about  it 
with  the  family  now.  She  doesn't  like  me — the  young 
lady  doesn't.  That's  because  I'm  doing  her  good." 

138 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

The  party  were  here  informed  by  a  very  apologetic  at- 
tendant that  the  room  was  about  to  be  cleared,  prepara- 
tory to  another  stance.  They  were,  indeed,  by  this  time 
the  only  members  of  the  public  left. 

"Good  Heavens!"  said  Lady  Conway.  "Let  us  fly! 
Nobody  shall  mesmerize  me!" 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  fevered  apprehension  into  which,  on  his  return 
last  night,  Mr.  Barton  had  worked  himself  as  he 
contemplated  the  ball-room  windows  had  indeed  been 
assuaged  by  Miss  Vivian  the  moment  he  actually  met 
her  again.  But  now,  when,  having  left  her,  he  thought 
of  her  new  associates,  their  aspect,  their  reputed  char- 
acter, and  the  easy  manner  in  which  she  had  herself 
mentioned  them,  his  previous  trouble  reasserted  itself 
in  a  less  acute  but  in  a  more  pervasive  form.  It  was  the 
same  trouble  that  had  assailed  him  at  Lady  Susannah's 
luncheon-party,  when  he  first  realized  the  possibility  of 
the  girl's  nature  being  swayed  by  influences  other  than 
those  which  for  him  were  alone  sacred.  It  was  the 
jealousy  of  a  new  atmosphere. 

Such  was  his  state  of  mind  when,  making  his  way 
toward  his  church,  he  found  himself  passing  the  doors  of 
the  Southquay  museum  buildings,  one  of  whose  halls 
was  used  for  scientific  and  other  lectures.  Lists  of  the 
subjects  now  in  course  of  being  dealt  with  were  displayed 
in  striking  type  on  placards  which  flanked  the  door. 
Most  of  these  were  familiar  objects,  having  been  there 
for  half  the  winter;  but  Mr.  Barton's  eyes  this  afternoon 
were  caught  by  a  new  announcement,  which  eclipsed  the 
others  by  its  freshness  and  the  size  of  its  bold  lettering — 
an  announcement  of  a  lecture  entitled  "The  New  Psy- 
chology," the  lecturer  being  none  other  than  the  objec- 
tionable Dr.  Gustav  Thistlewood.  Mr.  Barton  stopped 
short  and  stared  at  it. 

Science,  as  the  foe  of  religion,  was,  in  Mr.  Barton's 
opinion,  operative  mainly  among  vicious  and  ill-educated 

140 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

artisans.  It  was,  however,  notorious  that  what  occurred 
in  this  lower  social  stratum  was  not  without  its  lament- 
able counterpart  in  a  certain  section  of  the  highest, 
where  materialism  was  made  an  excuse  for  every  species 
of  refined  licence;  and  the  insidious  influences  which 
a  society  of  this  kind  might  exercise  seemed  to  him 
typified  by  the  grandiose  polish  of  Lord  Cots  wold,  by 
the  subdued  self-confidence  of  Dr.  Thistlewood,  and 
by  the  very  smell  of  Lady  Conway's  furs.  This  young 
soul,  which  had  been  committed  to  his  special  keeping, 
required  that  he  should  mount  guard  over  it  more  closely 
than  ever. 

Mr.  Barton  contemplated  the  placard  with  a  slight 
ironical  laugh.  Dr.  Thistlewood  had  doubtless,  in  some 
cases,  shown  himself  a  successful  healer.  But  that  a  man 
should  think  himself  qualified,  because  he  understood 
pills,  to  give  his  opinion  on  the  workings  of  the  living 
human  mind,  was,  in  Mr.  Barton's  estimation,  com- 
parable to  the  claim  of  a  cobbler  to  direct  the  armies  of 
his  country  because  he  supplied  their  boots.  The  folly 
of  such  men  was  truly  as  great  as  their  wickedness ;  but 
yet,  when  he  reflected  on  how  this  typical  pretender 
was  being  presented  as  an  oracle  to  the  imagination  of 
a  super-sensitive  girl,  anger  got  the  better  of  contempt 
and  anxiety  got  the  better  of  both.  He  would  see  her 
again  in  private,  and  at  the  earliest  moment  possible. 

As  for  Miss  Vivian  herself,  Lady  Conway,  could  she 
have  looked  inside  her,  would  have  smiled  to  see  that 
the  treatment  which  her  own  wisdom  had  suggested 
showed  some  slight  signs  already  of  producing  its  de- 
signed result.  The  girl  had  awoke  that  morning  from 
a  long  series  of  dreams,  in  which  something  constantly 
sought  for  had  been  forever  eluding  her,  to  find  herself 
in  a  state  of  languid  though  not  wholly  unpleasing  melan- 
choly, till  her  subsequent  adventures  at  the  fete  gave  a 
new  aspect  to  everything.  There  each  moment  of  sight- 
seeing had  filled  her  with  a  delightful  gayety.  Even  the 
proposal  which  Sir  Rawlin  did  not  fail  to  make,  that 

141 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

they  should  go  to  Dr.  Thistle  wood's  lecture,  and  which 
Lady  Susannah  had  assented  to,  holding  that  a  taste  for 
lectures  was  a  sign  of  steadiness  in  the  young,  came  to 
her  as  a  prospect  of  present  happiness  repeating  itself. 
But  as  soon  as  the  afternoon  was  over  she  felt  that  there 
had  been  a  want  somewhere.  Her  companion,  instead 
of  coming  with  her  to  the  step  of  her  aunt's  carriage, 
had  bidden  her  a  hasty  though  doubtless  a  very  friendly 
adieu,  and  allowed  himself  to  be  carried  off  by  Lady 
Conway  to  the  offices  of  the  Conservative  Association. 
She  had  been  gay  in  his  company;  that  fact  remained. 
But  was  gayety  all  she  sought  for?  Was  gayety  alone 
everything  ? 

That  night  in  her  sitting-room,  to  which  she  retreated 
early,  she  sank  as  if  quite  exhausted  into  a  low  chair 
by  her  fireside,  and  took  from  a  table  close  to  her  a 
small,  thin,  oblong  book.  It  was  Mr.  Barton's  Secret 
Way,  whose  pages  were  by  this  time  liberally  scored  with 
pencil-marks.  She  turned  these  languidly  till  she  came 
to  the  following  passage: 

"  Even  the  material  world  which  so-called  science  studies  has 
— for  both  it  and  the  soul  were  made  by  the  same  God — anal- 
ogies in  itself  by  which  the  world  of  the  spirit  is  illuminated. 
Such  science,  for  example,  tells  us  this — that  there  is  no  desire 
implanted  in  any  living  creature  which  does  not  indicate  the 
existence  somewhere  of  that  wherewithal  it  shall  be  satisfied. 
Thus,  for  bodies  numbed  with  cold  there  is  the  warmth  of  sun 
and  fire.  For  tired  muscles  and  heavy  eyes  there  is  sleep.  In 
the  hunger  of  a  lamb  is  a  witness  to  the  growing  of  the  green 
pastures.  With  respect,  indeed,  to  any  bodily  want  or  desire 
whatever,  the  actual  existence  of  its  true  corresponding  object 
may,  even  before  we  have  imagined  it,  be  inferred  from  the 
desire  itself — just  as,  to  take  another  analogy  supplied,  not  by 
living  but  by  mere  brute,  lifeless  matter,  from  the  movements 
of  a  planet  seen  is  inferred  the  existence  of  a  planet  unseen,  which 
influences  them.  So  it  is  with  the  soul.  If  thy  soul  desire  some- 
thing which  it  has  not  yet  found,  know  thou  that  somewhere 
this  thing  desired  exists;  and  if,  believing  that  thou  hast  found 
it,  thou  wouldst  know  whether  thou  hast  found  it  truly,  examine 
thy  heart  afresh  and  ask  whether  thy  heart  is  satisfied." 

142 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

Next  morning  a  letter  reached  her  the  masculine  writ- 
ing on  whose  envelope  she  saw  for  the  first  time.  Her 
heart  beat  with  pleasure  and  then  stood  still  with 
doubt.  The  letter  was  very  short,  amounting  to  no 
more  than  this: 

"  I  shall  be  very  busy  up  to  the  time  of  Dr.  Thistlewood's  lect- 
ure, but  hope  we  shall  meet  then.  Don't  forget  to  come.  The 
subject  sounds  dry,  but  I  think  that  the  watcher  of  the  pier 
will  make  it  interesting  to  both  of  us.  I  am,  meanwhile,  your 
friend  who  wishes  the  best  for  you. 

"  RAWLIN  STANTOR." 

The  reception  of  this  letter  caused  her  to  write  an- 
other, almost  as  brief,  and  addressed  to  a  different  per- 
son. A  servant  was  instructed  to  take  it  to  the  Rev- 
erend Theophilus  Barton.  It  ran: 

"DEAR  MR.  BARTON, — You  kindly  said  you  would  come  and 
talk  to  me  either  to-morrow  or  else  to-day.  Will  you  come  to- 
day? To-day  nobody  wants  me,  so  name  any  hour  you  like. 
It  will  be  nice  to  see  you  quietly  once  more  and  talk  about  what 
really  matters.  You  have  always  been  very  good  to  me. 

"N.  V." 

Mr.  Barton,  as  he  read  this,  felt  a  thankfulness  be- 
yond the  reach  of  words.  In  heart  he  had  been  already 
with  her,  taking  this  tender  life  again  under  the  pro- 
tection of  his  maternal  wings. 

Lady  Susannah  had  arranged,  as  she  had  done  on 
similar  occasions  previously,  that  he  should,  when  he 
arrived  in  the  afternoon,  be  shown  into  her  own  boudoir, 
her  instincts  telling  her  that  this  apartment,  close  to 
the  front  door,  was  in  itself  a  chaperon  whose  presence 
was  decorous,  though  of  course  it  was  unnecessary. 
Here  Mr.  Barton  found  Miss  Vivian  awaiting  him.  Her 
aspect  shocked  yet  at  the  same  time  subtly  pleased  him. 
Her  cheeks  were  pale,  and  she  rose  with  what  seemed 
an  effort  from  a  table  at  which,  without  much  apparent 
success,  she  was  constraining  herself  to  do  her  duty  by 
a  bowl  of  soup  with  some  bread  in  it. 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

"  You're  not  to  think,"  she  said,  laughing,  "  that  these 
are  my  usual  habits.  I've  been  told  to  eat  this,  for  I 
couldn't  manage  much  luncheon." 

Profoundly  touched,  he  seated  himself  at  a  little  dis- 
tance from  her,  and  said,  simply  and  kindly: 

"This  is  very,  very  sad.  I  fear  you  have  overtired 
yourself.  Go  on  with  your  soup.  I  haven't  come  here 
to  scold  you,  but  too  many  hours  at  balls — don't  you 
think  I  am  right  ? — are  almost  more  exhausting  than  too 
many  hours  in  church." 

The  girl  looked  at  him  with  a  smile  in  which,  gentle 
as  it  was,  there  lurked  a  fugitive  suggestion  of  worldli- 
ness  condescending  to  worldly  ignorance. 

"Dear  Mr.  Barton,"  she  said,  "you  needn't  preach 
to  me  about  balls.  The  ball  did  nothing  to  tire  me.  My 
mind  wants  a  tonic,  I  think,  far  more  than  my  body." 

"I  can  well  believe  that,"  he  said,  seating  himself  at 
a  little  distance  from  her.  "  I  have  long  been  desiring 
this  time  when  we  can  begin  our  talks  in  earnest.  Come, 
shall  we  be  methodical  ?  You  must  not  look  on  me  as  a 
pedant.  The  things  which  I  must  begin  with  saying  to 
you,  you  of  course  have  heard  before;  but  I  want  you  to 
consider  them  as  a  system." 

And  forthwith  he  set  himself,  in  simple  and  lucid 
language,  to  elucidate  the  position  of  the  soul  and  of 
human  beings  as  a  race,  in  the  light  which  the  Church, 
with  her  revelation  and  her  treasures  of  philosophy, 
throws  on  it.  The  Church,  he  said,  and  the  Church 
alone,  makes  the  object  of  our  life,  and  even  our  exist- 
ence, intelligible  and  reasonable  things.  We  must,  he 
said,  begin  with  ourselves.  How  did  we  come  to  exist  ? 
For  we  were  not  our  own  creators.  We  were  created  by 
some  other  Power,  and  this  Power,  to  say  the  least  of  it, 
could  not  be  less  intelligent  or  less  good  than  ourselves; 
for  the  Lesser,  as  was  self-evident,  could  not  produce  the 
Greater.  This  axiom  of  the  intellect  was  seconded  by 
the  voice  of  conscience,  which,  by  condemning  our  own 
moral  imperfections,  told  us  that  the  Source  of  our 

J44 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

being,  or,  in  other  words,  God,  was  perfect.  How,  then, 
were  our  own  imperfections — the  war  in  our  members — 
to  be  accounted  for?  The  word  of  God  informed  us. 
Our  imperfections  did  not,  and  could  not,  come  from 
God  Himself.  We  bore  them  as  a  burden  inherited  from 
our  first  earthly  parents.  The  spiritual  history  of  man, 
and  the  solution  of  all  its  problems,  were  comprised  in 
two  documents — the  written  Bible  and  the  living  ac- 
tivity of  the  Church.  The  latter  continued  the  process 
which  was  revealed  and  recorded  in  the  former,  thus 
linking  together  the  earliest  times  with  the  latest.  In 
the  first  chapter  of  Genesis,  with  its  account  of  the  primal 
tragedy,  a  complete  foretelling  of  Christ  and  the  Catholic 
Church  was  latent.  Then  in  the  inspired  history  of  the 
chosen  people  and  its  woes  we  had  the  history  of  the 
individual  soul  writ  large.  Here  we  saw  its  misery  in 
doing  what  it  did  not  desire,  there  we  saw  its  misery  in 
desiring  what  it  could  not  get.  Then,  when  Christ  came, 
and  when  His  work  was  continued  by  the  Church,  we 
saw  how  the  divinity  of  both,  quite  apart  from  external 
evidences,  was  attested  by  the  marvellous  fact  that  they 
brought  to  the  human  heart  those  precise  forms  of  help 
and  guidance  the  need  of  which,  with  increasing  clear- 
ness, it  had  been  signalizing  from  the  dawn  of  time. 
This  fact,  Mr.  Barton  went  on  to  say,  was  illustrated 
most  signally  by  the  Church's  sacramental  system,  which 
touched  life  at  every  point,  from  the  bed  of  birth  to  the 
death-bed — first  through  the  dews  of  baptism,  then 
through  the  succor  of  confirmation,  of  which  they  would 
speak  hereafter ;  then  through  that  Second  Advent  which 
took  place  at  every  good  communion,  when  our  Lord, 
as  it  were,  laid  His  head  on  the  breasts  of  all  who  loved 
Him;  then  through  the  Christian  marriage — that  great 
triumph  over  the  Evil  One — which  turned  all  that  warred 
against  the  Spirit  into  an  embodied  and  life-long  holiness ; 
then  through  the  sacraments  of  cleansing  penance  and 
pardon;  and,  lastly,  those  which  turned  the  death-bed 
into  a  solemn  bridal. 

MS 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

The  girl  listened,  absorbed;  and  although  she  was  still 
pensive,  she  seemed  to  be  breathing  the  atmosphere  of 
some  assuaging  peace,  Mr.  Barton's  face  seeming  to  her 
like  a  face  in  some  far-off  chancel. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  when  at  last  he  rose  to  go, 
"when  shall  I  come  to  see  you  again  and  speak  about 
confirmation  in  detail  ?  I  have  other  sheep  in  my  flock, 
you  know,  to  be  talked  to  about  the  same  subject.  Shall 
we  say  the  day  after  to-morrow?" 

"  Yes,"  said  the  girl,  her  eyes  soft  with  some  ambiguous 
gratitude.  "I  will  expect  you  then.  Good-bye." 

The  priest  departed,  taking  with  him  as  much  peace 
as  he  had  brought;  but  this  was  ruffled  next  morning  by 
the  following  few  words  which  were  brought  to  him, 
scrawled  in  pencil: 

"  Instead  of  to-morrow.  Friday,  do  you  think  you  could  come 
to-day?  I  had  forgotten;  but  to-morrow  we  are  going  to  Dr. 
Thistlewood's  lecture." 

In  spite  of  the  other  calls  on  him,  Mr.  Barton  punct- 
ually came.  Pleased  by  the  urgency  of  her  summons, 
the  occasion  of  it  roused  in  him  an  anxiety  so  harsh  as 
to  be  almost  irritable,  nor  did  the  submissive  warmth 
of  her  welcome  or  her  continued  pallor  disarm  him. 

"And  so,"  he  began,  "  I  gather  that  you  are  going  to 
betake  yourself  to  instructions  very  different  from  mine. 
My  dear  child,  if  you  haven't  found  what  you  want  in 
dancing-rooms,  or  in  the  tricks  of  a  mesmerist,  do  you 
think  you  will  find  it  in  a  doctor's  disquisition  on  psy- 
chology? At  its  best,  psychology  is  a  dry  and.  for  most 
of  us,  a  superfluous  study.  Any  child  can  tell  itself 
more  about  the  motions  of  its  own  mind  than  it  could 
learn  from  an  army  of  psychological  lecturers.  Do  you 
know  what  psychology  is?  I  can  explain  it  to  you  in 
half  a  dozen  words.  When  you  and  I  talk,  the  different 
sounds  we  form  depend  on  the  different  ways  in  which 
the  tongue  touches  the  teeth,  the  roof  of  the  mouth, 
and  so  on;  and  wiseacres  can  tell  us — I  dare  say  with 

146 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

perfect  truth — what  particular  movements  of  the  tongue 
produce  each  particular  sound.  But  for  you  and  me, 
and  for  human  beings  generally — whatever  may  be  the 
case  with  the  wiseacres — the  important  thing  is  the 
words  and  the  sentences  we  utter,  not  the  particular 
gymnastics  which  the  tongue  performs  in  uttering  them. 
The  science  of  psychology  is  to  the  operations  of  the 
mind  just  what  the  science  of  articulation  is  to  the  use 
of  speech.  It  can  tell  us  no  more  of  the  uses  to  which 
our  minds  should  be  put  than  an  account  of  the  manner 
in  which  our  Blessed  Lord  used  his  tongue  could  bring 
home  to  your  soul  or  mine  the  meaning  of  the  Sermon  on 
the  Mount." 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  said  Miss  Vivian,  "and  I 
don't  think  I  much  care,  what  psychology  is,  but  we're 
all  of  us  going,  just  to  hear  a  famous  man." 

"Ah,  well,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  reassured  by  the  indif- 
ference of  her  manner,  "  the  worst  this  precious  lecture 
can  do  for  you  will  be  to  keep  you  out  of  the  open  air; 
and  this  talk  about  psychology,  new  or  old,  about  which 
you  will  hear  to-morrow  from  an  expert  in  drugs  and 
doses,  has  not  perhaps  been  very  inappropriate  after  all. 
The  proper  meaning  of  psychology  is  an  accurate  knowl- 
edge of  the  soul;  and  our  own  subject — differences  being 
duly  allowed  for — involves,  and  indeed  rests  upon,  a 
sort  of  psychology  of  its  own.  So  let  us  begin  with  that. 
You'll  find  it  all  set  out  in  the  little  manual  I  gave  you, 
or  indeed  in  any  other  which  does  justice  to  the  Church's 
teaching." 

Mr.  Barton  then  set  himself  to  explain — questioning 
his  listener  at  intervals,  to  make  sure  that  she  followed 
him — that  the  whole  meaning  of  confirmation  depended 
on  a  certain  fact  as  to  the  constitution  of  the  human 
soul.  This  was  the  fact  that,  as  the  Church  had  always 
taught,  as  Miss  Vivian  would  learn  from  any  other  An- 
glican priest,  and  as  God  had  directly  revealed  to  us, 
speaking  through  the  prophet  Isaiah,  the  soul  of  man  is 
possessed  of  seven  distinct  faculties,  which  are  essential 

M7 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

to  its  spiritual  life.  The  first  man,  Adam,  possessed  these 
in  full  perfection.  By  his  fall,  though  not  extinguished, 
they  lost  their  strength,  both  in  himself  and  in  all  de- 
scended from  him.  The  sacrament  of  confirmation  gave, 
he  said,  their  pristine  strength  back  to  them.  These 
seven  faculties  which,  when  thus  completely  restored  to 
us,  are  called  "the  gifts  of  the  Spirit,"  consist,  Mr.  Bar- 
ton went  on  to  say,  of  "Wisdom,  Understanding,  Counsel, 
Knowledge,  Spiritual  Strength,  Holy  Fear,  and  Godli- 
ness." Imagination,  memory,  human  affection,  the  sense 
of  beauty,  and  so  forth  —  all  the  faculties,  in  short, 
of  which  we  are  cognizant  in  ordinary  life — could,  he 
said,  be  applied  to  their  proper  purpose  only  when 
guided  and  illuminated  by  these  seven  sacramental  gifts. 
He  then  proceeded  to  explain  that  these  seven  gifts  of 
the  Spirit — "We  have  another  chapter,"  he  observed, 
"of  Divine  psychology  here" — caused  to  germinate  in 
the  soul  "the  nine  fruits  of  the  Spirit,"  foremost  among 
which  were  Love  and  Joy  and  Peace.  It  was  thus,  he 
said  in  conclusion,  that  the  grace  given  in  confirmation 
enabled  the  whole  inner  being  of  man  to  complete  itself, 
and  to  reach  even  here  to  foretastes  of  its  future  perfect 
union  with  Him  in  whom  Love  and  Joy  and  Peace  and 
all  Beauty  are  one. 

This  exposition,  which  was  made  with  great  logical 
simplicity,  occupied  a  considerable  time,  during  most 
of  which  Mr.  Barton  looked  steadily  at  the  green  Brussels 
carpet.  It  had  been  enough  for  him  to  feel  that  he  was 
one  human  soul  directly  urging  the  deepest  of  all  truths 
on  another,  which  other,  as  the  voice  of  his  Lord  had 
told  him,  he  might  guide  and  cherish  as  though,  in  some 
special  sense,  she  were  his  own.  He  attempted  neither 
by  voice  nor  glance  to  make  his  instructions  the  vehicle 
of  any  common  sentimentality.  He  was  hardly,  indeed, 
conscious  of  himself.  It  was  only  when  he  came  to  his 
summing  up  of  the  matter  that  his  listener  caught  his 
eyes,  and  saw  them  shining  with  exaltation,  like  the 
windows  of  a  far-off  city. 

148 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

"  And  now,"  he  said,  rising  and  standing  with  his  back 
to  the  fireplace,  "I've  finished  my  homily  for  to-day. 
Well,  dear  child,  I  honestly  believe  that  you  have 
understood  me,  and  that  you  will  ponder  these  things  in 
your  heart.  Yes,  yes — and  I  have  one  thing  more  to 
add.  Don't  make  too  much  of  what  I  said  about  this 
wonderful  lecture.  If  the  man's  right,  well  and  good. 
If  he's  wrong,  he  won't  bite  us.  Your  own  people  are 
going.  By  all  means  go  also.  Indeed,  I  may  myself 
look  in  for  an  hour  or  so,  and  hear  the  old  bones  rattled 
again — sensation,  cognition,  apperception — whose  sound 
I  used  to  hate  at  Cambridge.  An  apothecary  in  a  meta- 
physician's chair — that  will,  at  all  events,  be  a  novelty. 
Do  you  object  to  the  thought  that  I  am  doing  what  I 
can  to  watch  over  you?" 

"No,  indeed,"  she  answered.  "On  the  contrary,  I 
am  more  than  grateful." 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  interest  excited  in  Southquay  by  Dr.  Thistle- 
wood's  fame  and  personality  was  evidenced  the 
following  afternoon  by  the  large  number  of  carriages 
which  were  setting  down  their  well-dressed  occupants  at 
the  doors  of  the  museum  buildings.  Whereas  on  ordi- 
nary occasions  the  fact  of  an  impending  lecture  would 
merely  have  been  indicated  by  the  furtive  and  inter- 
mittent disappearance,  through  doors  which  stood  half 
open,  of  a  few  sadly  clothed  persons,  like  worshippers 
who  were  entering  a  chapel  unsuited  to  their  social 
status,  silk  skirts  rustled  in  the  entrance,  servants  stood 
outside,  and  among  the  general  stir  a  spruce-looking  one- 
horse  brougham,  the  door  of  which  was  opened  by  a  tall 
footman  in  powder,  emitted  the  persons  of  Lord  Cots- 
wold  and  the  renowned  lecturer  himself.  Then  Lady 
Conway  drove  up  in  a  particularly  shabby  cab,  as  though 
all  the  equipages  which  fell  short  of  the  splendor  of  her 
own  were  the  same  for  her.  Mrs.  Morriston  Campbell 
followed,  swaying  in  a  large  barouche,  and  nearly  fell 
down,  as  she  alighted,  in  her  futile  efforts  to  catch  Lady 
Conway's  eye.  All  she  could  do  was  to  follow  in  her 
wake  to  the  lecture-room,  where  Sir  Rawlin  and  Lord 
Cotswold  were  leaning  against  the  wall,  talking;  while 
Lady  Susannah,  Miss  Arundel,  and  Miss  Vivian  were 
already  seated,  waiting  as  if  in  church. 

"Come,"  said  Lady  Conway  to  Sir  Rawlin,  "that's 
your  place,  by  the  young  lady.  Don't  forget  my  ad- 
vice. Sit  down,  and  explain  the  long  words  to  her." 

In  accordance  with  custom,  the  lecturer  was  intro- 
duced by  a  chairman,  an  old  inhabitant  of  Southquay 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

and  its  intellectual  patron.  This  gentleman,  an  octo- 
genarian of  vigorous  and  distinguished  aspect,  began 
by  reminding  his  hearers  that  Dr.  Thistlewood  was 
known  throughout  Europe  for  certain  dramatic  inci- 
dents in  his  career — which  were,  indeed,  matters  of  his- 
tory— and  also  by  his  success  in  certain  public  enter- 
prises. Besides  being  the  hero  of  the  great  Neapolitan 
pestilence,  he  was  the  founder  of  what  was  now  one  of 
the  best-known  health  resorts  in  France,  where  treat- 
ment was  accorded  to  necessitous  patients  gratuitously; 
but  greater  even  than  his  achievements  as  a  man  of 
healing,  though  not  so  generally  understood,  were  his 
achievements  as  a  man  of  research.  "Take,  for  in- 
stance," said  the  chairman,  pleasantly,  "this  science  of 
the  mind,  or  psychology.  When  I  was  at  Oxford,  fifty- 
five  years  ago,  nothing  could  have  been  more  dreary 
and  unprofitable.  We  were  no  wiser  at  the  end  than  we 
were  at  the  beginning  of  our  study  of  it.  I  see  a  rev- 
erend contemporary  of  mine  at  the  other  end  of  the 
room,  and  I'm  sure  he'll  bear  me  out."  At  this  there 
was  the  inevitable  laugh,  and  a  turning  of  heads  toward 
a  well-known  and  white-haired  cleric,  who  nodded  a 
placid  acquiescence.  "  But  now,"  continued  the  chair- 
man, "  during  the  lifetime  of  the  youngest  of  you — you 
young  people  have  a  great  deal  to  be  thankful  for — 
we've  changed  all  that,  and  Dr.  Thistlewood  is  eminent 
among  those  who  have  helped  to  change  it.  About  the 
nature  of  the  change  I  will  only  presume  to  say  one 
thing.  You'll  find  that  he  has  made  psychology  a  very 
much  nicer  medicine.  It  used  to  be  something  like  our 
gray  and  our  brown  powders,  the  taste  of  which  I  re- 
member still.  But  in  telling  you  this  I  only  represent 
prophecy.  I  will  not  call  upon  my  distinguished  friend 
here  for  its  fulfilment." 

Dr.  Thistlewood  rose,  and  a  burst  of  applause  greeted 
him. 

The  chairman,  he  said,  had  relieved  him  of  the  most 
difficult  part  of  his  business — namely,  the  introduction 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

of  it.  What  he  was  going  to  speak  about  was  not  so 
much  psychology  generally  as  the  differences  which  dis- 
tinguish the  new  psychology  from  the  old.  Psychology, 
as  they  all  knew,  meant  the  science  of  the  mind  and  its 
workings.  But  we  only  knew  that  we  had  minds  be- 
cause we  were  conscious,  as  selves,  of  having  them.  It 
would,  therefore,  be  better  to  define  psychology  as  the 
science  of  the  living  self.  Now,  how  was  this  self  to 
be  studied?  Since  we  only  know  that  we  have  selves 
because  consciousness  tells  us  so,  the  most  natural  an- 
swer to  this  question  was  that  we  must  study  self  by 
examining  the  facts  of  consciousness.  This  was  the  as- 
sumption with  which  the  old  psychology  started,  and 
with  this  assumption  it  ended.  It  sought  for  its  facts 
wholly  within  the  limits  of  the  conscious  circle.  The 
new  psychology  differed  essentially  from  the  old  be- 
cause, though  likewise  taking  these  facts  as  its  starting- 
point,  it  had  come  to  recognize  that  they  did  not  stand 
alone,  but  were  merely  some  fraction  of  a  very  much 
larger  process,  most  of  which  lay  beyond  the  limits  of 
the  conscious  self  altogether.  "For  example,"  said  Dr. 
Thistle  wood,  "if  we  wanted  to  know  why  a  man  did 
some  particular  thing,  the  old  psychology  assumed  that 
he  need  only  honestly  examine  himself,  and  that  then  he 
could,  if  he  would,  give  us  a  complete  answer.  Here  we 
have  the  psychology  of  the  confessional.  The  new  psy- 
chology recognizes  that  in  the  case — it  will  be  enough  for 
me  here  to  say  in  the  case  of  two-thirds  of  our  actions — 
the  most  searching  self-examination  could  no  more  ex- 
plain their  origin  than  a  baby  foundling  could  recount  to 
us  the  biography  of  its  great-great-grandparents.  Here 
we  have  the  fact  which  the  old  psychology  overlooked. 
It  behaved  as  a  man  would  who  thought  he  could  ex- 
plain the  England  of  to-day — the  trains  in  which  he 
travels,  the  electric  light  he  reads  by — if  everything  were 
a  blank  to  him  which  lay  beyond  the  memories  of  the 
present  generation.  This  error  the  new  psychology 
rectifies.  It  does  not  neglect  the  conscious — or  we  may 

152 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

call  it  the  self-examinable — but  it  shows  that  this  is  ex- 
plicable only  by  connecting  it  with  the  unconscious." 

Such  generalities,  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  were  no  doubt 
rather  dry.  He  would  now  enliven  them  with  illustra- 
tions. He  would  begin  with  the  case  of  memory.  If 
we  wished  to  make  sure  that  a  servant  remembered  some 
order  given  him,  our  great  endeavor  would  be  to  make 
the  man  keenly  conscious  of  it — to  dig  it  into  him,  as 
we  say.  Memory,  indeed,  seemed  to  most  people  to  be 
an  affair  of  consciousness  or  to  be  nothing.  But  the 
new  psychology  told  us  a  very  different  tale.  It  showed 
us  that  facts  might  be  remembered  for  half  a  lifetime 
which  had,  at  the  time  of  their  occurrence,  never  made 
any  entry  into  the  domain  of  consciousness  at  all.  He 
proceeded  to  give  a  number  of  quaint  and  curious  cases, 
such  as  that  of  a  Swiss  woman — a  great  heroine  among 
spiritualists  —  who  in  certain  abnormal  states  would 
mouth  out  Sanscrit  words,  these  being  accepted  by  her 
friends  as  the  utterances  of  a  disembodied  spirit.  It 
afterward  appeared  that  this  woman,  in  her  early  child- 
hood, had  been  often  in  a  room  where  a  professor  of 
Oriental  languages  would  mutter  scraps  of  Sanscrit  as 
he  waited  for  his  morning  chocolate.  The  child  never 
knew  she  had  heard  them,  but  thirty  years  later  they 
emitted  themselves  from  the  mouth  of  the  morbid  wom- 
an. To  such  cases  he  would  add  that  of  a  French  post- 
man who  was  terrified  at  finding  that,  when  drunk,  he 
had  lost  a  valuable  letter,  but  retained,  in  his  sober  state, 
no  memory  of  the  incident.  He  was  made  drunk  again. 
He  remembered  it,  and  the  letter  was  found,  thrown 
away  in  a  ditch  by  a  road  near  Paris.  Dr.  Thistlewood 
said  that  he  mentioned  this  last  case  because,  simple  as 
it  seemed,  it  threw  a  vivid  light  on  a  question  we  were 
all  compelled  to  ask.  No  memories  exist  in  a  conscious 
form  always.  What  are  they  when  they  are  not  con- 
scious ?  In  what  do  they  reside  or  inhere  ?  They  don't 
reside  in  the  clouds.  We  obviously  carry  them  about 
with  us;  for  with  appropriate  instruments  we  can  re- 

153 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

cover  them.  In  what  they  reside  the  postman's  case 
showed  us.  The  instrument  by  which  they  were  recov- 
ered in  his  case  was  a  litre  of  strong  red  wine,  and  the 
wine  operated  by  affecting  his  nervous  system,  or,  rather, 
some  special  tracts  of  it.  The  nervous  system,  then, 
was  the  basis  of  all  consciousness — the  basis  of  what 
we  mean  by  self.  Self  was  a  portion  of  that  system,  in 
a  certain  special  condition.  In  other  words,  self  for 
psychology  was  a  function  of  the  nervous  organism. 

"Of  course,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "the  clergy — and 
they  are  well  within  their  province  in  doing  so — will  tell 
us  that  the  self,  or  soul,  has  a  secret  existence  of  its  own 
behind  this  nervous  organism  and  transcending  it.  I 
wish  to  say  nothing  here  in  contradiction  of  this  doc- 
trine. I  say  only  that,  if  this  doctrine  is  true,  we  must 
learn  it  from  the  clergy  and  not  from  psychological  sci- 
ence. Science  must  be  austerely  humble  and  remain 
within  its  own  boundaries."  The  few  clergymen  in  the 
room  here  testified  their  approbation.  "Psychology," 
Dr.  Thistlewood  continued,  "  deals  only  with  the  self  as 
we  know  it  under  the  present  conditions  of  our  exist- 
ence; and  so  long  as  we  approach  it  under  these  con- 
ditions it  is  inseparable  from  the  nervous  system,  and 
can  only  be  understood  as  a  product  of  it/' 

It  was  by  a  recognition  of  this  fact,  he  went  on,  that 
psychology  had  ceased  to  be  an  affair  of  private  and 
conflicting  self-examinations,  and  had  become  a  science 
in  the  true  sense  of  the  word.  It  had  supplemented  the 
self-examinations  of  the  recluse  by  the  experiments  of 
the  laboratory  and  the  hospital.  These  methods  of 
observation,  he  said,  were  revealing  a  world  of  wonders, 
all  exhibiting  the  conscious  life  of  the  self  as  an  efflores- 
cence of  the  non-conscious  organism — or  as  a  candle- 
flame  dependent  on  the  wax  which  it  melts  for  its  own 
consumption.  "Well,"  he  continued,  "to  many  of  you 
all  this  may  seem  very  revolutionary;  but  if  it  destroys 
some  of  our  old  beliefs,  it  is,  in  the  most  sensational  way, 
reconstructive  of  others.  I  said  I  should  avoid  tres- 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

passing  on  the  proper  domain  of  the  clergy,  but  I  think 
they  will  forgive  me  if  I  here  stray  over  the  border. 
There  are  a  large  number  of  miracles  ascribed  to  the 
saints  of  Christendom  which,  though  the  Roman  Church 
still  regards  them  as  genuine,  Protestantism  and  science 
alike  have  been  accustomed  to  dismiss  as  ridiculous  and 
degrading  fables." 

A  slight  sound  in  the  body  of  the  hall  here  made  the 
lecturer  pause.  It  was  caused  by  Mr.  Barton,  who  was 
at  that  moment  entering.  The  sound  of  the  words 
"saints"  and  "miracles"  arrested  him  in  the  act  of 
searching  for  a  place.  He  subsided  into  a  chair  with  a 
frown  of  prospective  antagonism. 

"  Many  of  these  miracles,"  Dr.  Thistlewood  continued, 
"  so  long  derided  by  Protestant  and  scientific  rationalism, 
the  psychological  science  of  to-day  is  actually  giving 
back  to  us  as  facts.  Indeed,  for  the  scientific,  for  the 
experimental  psychologist,  some  of  the  most  valuable 
documents  we  possess  are  comprised  in  the  old  accounts 
of  certain  of  the  mediaeval  saints."  Mr.  Barton  could 
hardly  believe  his  ears.  Dr.  Thistlewood  said  that  he 
alluded  to  such  phenomena  as  trance  and  ecstasy,  to 
the  seeing  of  visions,  to  the  hearing  of  spiritual  voices, 
and  to  the  actual  development  in  saints'  bodies  of  the 
stigmata.  Experimental  psychology,  founded  as  it  was 
on  observation,  now  recognized  such  alleged  facts  as 
genuine;  for  the  psychologist  was  daily  encountering, 
among  the  human  specimens  submitted  to  him,  similar 
facts  himself;  and  when  they  occurred  they  coincided 
in  the  most  startling  way  with  minute  details  recorded  by 
the  hagiologists  of  the'  Roman  Church.  The  occurrence 
even  of  stigmatization  had  been  actually  witnessed  in 
hospitals.  The  occurrence  of  trance  and  ecstasy,  divine 
visions,  the  hearing  of  unspeakable  words,  the  con- 
sciousness of  an  abnormal  insight  into  the  divine  mys- 
tery of  existence  might  be  called  comparatively  com- 
mon. They  could  be  produced  even  in  a  healthy  subject 
by  the  inhalation  of  certain  vapors.  But  apart  from 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

the  employment  of  a  medical  artifice  such  as  this,  these 
phenomena  were  always  accompanied  by  certain  physical 
symptoms — very  specific  symptoms,  which  happened  to 
be  precisely  those  ascribed  to  the  saints  by  their  biog- 
raphers. Among  these  symptoms,  for  example,  were 
certain  affections  of  the  skin,  often  mentioned  as  ex- 
hibited by  the  great  ecstatics,  and  identical  with  those 
distinctive  of  hysterical  visionaries  to-day.  The  ravish- 
ment of  the  saints,  as  we  learned  from  St.  Teresa  herself, 
was  always  accompanied  by  a  depression  of  breathing 
and  circulation.  These  precise  symptoms  were  now 
recognized  as  accompaniments  of  the  ravishments  of  the 
hospital.  More  curious  still,  such  ravishments  as  the 
saints  experienced  were  said  to  have  been  accompanied, 
in  some  cases,  by  extraordinary  contortions  of  the  body. 
St  Christina,  for  example,  commonly  called  "mirabilis," 
is  said  to  have  been,  during  her  ecstasies,  contracted 
into  a  spherical  form,  or — as  her  biographer  puts  it — 
rolled  up  like  a  hedge-hog.  Precisely  the  same  thing 
occurred  in  cases  of  hystero-epilepsy.  The  vision  of 
the  Apostle  Paul  under  the  mid-day  sun  of  Syria  was  at 
one  time  lightly  dismissed  by  scientific  men  as  a  fairy 
tale.  Psychologists  now  recognized  that,  in  all  its 
generic  features,  it  coincided  with  well-known  effects  of 
sunstroke.  w  I  will,"  said  Dr  Thistlewood,  "  again  beg 
leave  to  impress  on  you  that  there  is  nothing  in  all  this 
which  need  conflict  with  the  faith  of  Christians.  Just 
as  the  psychologist's  identification  of  the  self  with  the 
organic  system  need  not  hinder  the  clergy  from  maintain- 
ing that  there  is  a  transcendental  self  in  the  background, 
so  the  identification  of  certain  abnormal  phenomena,  as 
manifested  by  saints  and  apostles,  with  occurrences  daily 
observable  in  our  hospitals  and  elsewhere,  need  not  pre- 
vent the  clergy  from  maintaining  that  there  was  in  the 
former  cases  some  additional  element  wholly  unknown 
to  science,  and  present  in  those  cases  only." 

And  now,   Dr.   Thistlewood  said,  he  would  descend 
from  abnormal  facts  to  normal,  which  were  for  the  old 

156 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

psychology  no  less  inexplicable.  Here  he  would  once 
again  refer  to  the  Apostle  Paul.  They  all  remembered 
the  apostle's  celebrated  confession:  "The  evil  which  I 
would  not,  that  I  do."  This  paradoxical  antagonism 
between  the  act  and  the  conscious  will  was  a  mystery 
to  the  apostle  himself,  and  has  remained  a  mystery  till 
yesterday.  The  new  psychology  had  now  thrown  a 
flood  of  light  on  it.  By  showing  us  that  all  our  con- 
sciousness was  the  product  of  non-conscious  activities,  it 
exhibited  will,  or  the  conscious  impulse  to  action,  as 
surrounded  by  other  impulses  of  which  consciousness 
told  us  nothing,  but  which  differed  from  will  only  as, 
in  the  case  of  some  enormous  mechanism,  wheels  and 
levers,  of  whose  action  we  could  take  no  count,  because 
they  were  lost  in  darkness,  differed  from  others  which 
were  revealed  to  us  by  a  bull's-eye  lantern.  The  old 
psychology  confined  itself  to  those  few  parts  of  the 
mechanism  which  lay  within  the  illuminated  circle. 
No  wonder  it  was  mystified  by  observing  that  the  wheels 
which  alone  were  visible  to  it  were  often  reversed  by 
some  agency  which  was  not  in  these  wheels  themselves. 
But  when  once  it  was  realized  that  these  few  visible 
wheels  were  but  parts  of  some  larger  mechanism,  with 
a  complex  apparatus  of  unseen  reversing  gears,  springs, 
and  detents,  which  acted  on  them,  the  element  of  mystery 
and  paradox  altogether  disappeared. 

Finally,  from  the  antagonism  between  the  conscious 
will  and  the  act,  they  would  pass  to  the  succession  of 
wills,  each  antagonistic  to  the  other.  Philip  drunk  dif- 
fered from  Philip  sober.  Love  prevailed  one  week. 
Prudence  prevailed  the  next.  Familiar  facts  like  these 
showed  us  that  the  area  of  consciousness — or,  in  other 
words,  the  content  of  what  we  commonly  call  self — was 
not  stationary,  but  moved,  as  the  light  flung  from  a 
lantern  might,  and  had  for  its  focal  nucleus  different 
brain  centres  in  succession,  and  of  a  series  of  conscious 
states,  thus  varying  in  their  content,  what  we  commonly 
mean  by  self,  or  by  personal  identity,  was  composed. 

157 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

The  question  remained,  however,  of  how  these  states 
were  connected.  What  rendered  the  series  one  self  in- 
stead of  many  selves?  The  answer  to  this  question 
might  be  given  in  two  forms.  One  was  subjective — 
namely,  a  general  continuity  of  memory.  The  other 
was  objective — namely,  the  physical  basis  of  memory, 
or  the  continuous  functioning,  to  use  yet  more  technical 
language,  of  certain  parts  of  one  normally  co-ordinated 
organism.  "  In  other  words,"  Dr.  Thistlewood  went  on, 
"what  the  new  psychology  shows,  to  make  the  matter 
short,  is  this:  that  these  selves  of  ours,  which  we  used 
to  think  so  simple,  are  each  of  them  a  sort  of  family 
whose  common  life  is  supported  by  the  co-operation  of 
a  thousand  servants.  Most  of  these  servants  the  family 
never  sees  at  all;  and  it  sees,  of  those  whom  it  does  see, 
only  two  or  three  at  a  time.  And  now,"  said  Dr.  Thistle- 
wood,  "to  conclude.  The  general  upshot  of  what  I 
have  just  been  saying  may  be  briefly  expressed  thus: 
The  new  psychology  takes  much  with  which  we  are 
familiar  away  from  us,  but  it  gives  us  something  in 
return  which,  when  its  strangeness  has  gone,  we  shall 
find  to  be  more  than  an  equivalent.  The  old  psychology 
said,  through  one  of  its  most  accomplished  representa- 
tives, '  We  feel  that  we  are  greater  than  we  know.'  The 
new  psychology  answers — and  will  you  carry  its  answer 
away  with  you? — 'We  know  that  we  are  greater  than 
we  feel.' " 

"My  dear  Dr.  Gustav,"  said  Lady  Conway,  when  all 
was  over,  "  I'm  delighted  to  hear  that  I  keep  so  large  an 
establishment,  and  that  when  I  do  wrong  it's  all  the 
fault  of  the  kitchen-maids.  I  must  tell  you,  however, 
that  for  my  own  part  I  feel  my  greatness  as  well  as  know 
it,  for  to-night  I'm  going  to  meet  you  at  dinner." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

MR.  BARTON,  who  had  come  to  the  lecture  with  a 
view  to  detecting  the  errors  in  it  and  taking  them 
for  a  text  in  some  future  conversation  with  Miss  Vivian, 
found  himself  for  the  first  few  moments  in  a  state  of  be- 
wildered surprise  which  had  in  it  the  conflicting  flavors 
of  unexpected  approval  and  of  disappointment.  The 
announcement  which  greeted  him  on  his  entrance  that 
the  new  psychology  was  rehabilitating  the  miracles  of 
the  mediaeval  saints — he  could  not  quarrel  with  that, 
although  he  would  have  liked  to  do  so;  and  again,  the 
lecturer's  manner — this  certainly  was  not  the  manner  of 
an  "apothecary"  turned  quack  philosopher.  Still,  Mr. 
Barton  felt  that  there  was  something  not  right  some- 
where; and  then  came  the  sentence  in  which  the  great 
vision  of  Paul,  while  admitted  to  be  a  fact,  was  as- 
similated to  the  ordinary  results  of  sunstroke.  Mr. 
Barton  felt  at  once  that  his  original  prevision  was  justi- 
fied; and  when  he  grasped  more  clearly  the  general  line 
of  the  argument — when  he  heard  man's  self  spoken  of  as 
a  function  of  his  organic  system,  his  immortal  soul  as  a 
product  of  a  bundle  of  perishable  nerves — he  was  less 
scandalized  than  delighted  to  find  that  even  the  most 
accomplished  of  sceptics  inevitably  fell  to  the  level  of  the 
infidel  of  the  street  and  the  pothouse.  Nothing  is  more 
gratifying  to  an  opponent  than  to  hear  his  enemy,  in 
deliberate  terms,  expose  himself. 

Mr.  Barton  had  hoped  to  ascertain,  the  moment  he 
entered,  if  Miss  Vivian  were  present,  possibly  to  sit  near 
her,  and  at  all  events  to  note  her  companions  and  the 
manner  in  which  she  comported  herself.  But  the  crowd, 

159 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

for  which  he  was  not  prepared,  made  any  such  observa- 
tions impracticable,  so  he  resigned  himself  to  waiting 
till  the  end;  and  then,  when  the  end  came,  and  he  stood 
in  the  gangway  looking  for  her,  he  felt  himself  ready  to 
meet  her  with  new  confidence  and  authority.  It  would, 
indeed,  not  be  difficult  to  deal  with  Dr.  Gustav  Thistle- 
wood. 

As  the  audience  gradually  thinned  and  no  Miss  Viv- 
ian appeared,  he  saw  that  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
platform  a  numerous  group  remained;  and  there,  not 
far  from  some  sables  which  he  recognized  as  Lady  Con- 
way's,  was  an  aigrette  which  could,  as  he  knew,  belong  to 
one  person  only.  Toward  this  group  he  began  to  push 
his  way,  but  before  he  could  get  near  it,  the  out-goers 
being  still  numerous,  he  encountered  Mr.  George  Carlton, 
who,  nervously  holding  his  hat  so  as  to  protect  it  against 
the  pressure  of  the  public,  assumed,  on  catching  sight 
of  him,  an  expression  of  beckoning  intelligence. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  Mr.  Carlton,  "I've  just  been 
sent  to  look  for  you.  You're  not  gone — that's  delight- 
ful. My  cousin  Lady  Susannah  wants  you  to  come  to 
tea  with  her.  I  ought  to  tell  you  that  there's  a  plot  to 
make  you  sing — perhaps  a  duet  with  a  certain  young 
person  who  is  your  pupil  —  and  I'm  quite  sure  that 
you'll  be  dear  and  nice  and  obliging.  Lord  Cotswold  is 
coming  —  so  musical  and  interesting;  and  he  is  most 
anxious  to  hear  you.  There  he  is.  Let  me  introduce 
you." 

Mr.  Barton  could  not  refuse.  He  did  not,  indeed,  wish 
to  do  so.  During  the  past  half-hour  he  had  become 
conscious  of  a  new  attitude.  The  world  would  not  hurt 
him.  He  could  meet  it  on  its  own  ground;  and  by 
mixing  with  it  and  observing  its  dangers  he  would  be 
able  all  the  better  to  guard  others  against  them.  While 
this  was  passing  in  his  mind  he  heard  Mr.  Carlton 
describing  him  as  "  such  a  dear  fellow — such  a  charming 
fellow — so  cultivated";  and  a  moment  later  he  found 
himself  the  recipient  of  a  bow  from  Lord  Cotswold,  so 

1 60 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

grave,  stately,  and  deferent  that  a  bishop  could  have 
desired  no  more. 

"I  hear,  Mr.  Barton,"  said  Lord  Cotswold,  "that  you 
have  travelled  much  in  the  East,  studying  its  churches. 
I  also  am  an  architectural  palmer,  and  have  brought 
back  many  relics  from  Palestine.  My  reliquaries  are 
portfolios.  Some  day  you  must  let  me  show  them  to 
you." 

Meanwhile,  in  the  group  to  which  Mr.  Barton  had  thus 
attached  himself,  a  slight  movement  was  being  caused 
by  the  departure  of  one  of  its  members.  This  was  Sir 
Rawlin  Stantor. 

"You're  not  coming  to  tea,  then?"  said  Miss  Vivian, 
as  he  held  her  hand. 

"  If  I  can,"  he  answered,  in  a  tone  that  at  once  moved 
and  chilled  her.  "  I  have  an  appointment  at  the  office 
first.  It  was  all  I  could  do  to  steal  time  for  the  lecture. 
The  sooner  I  go  the  more  chance  I  have  of  coming  back 
to  you  afterward.  This  evening  I  make  a  speech.  One 
can't  always  do  what  one  wants  to  do." 

"Listen,"  said  Lady  Conway,  detaining  him  for  a 
moment.  "  I  congratulate  you.  Your  manner  to  the 
young  person  during  the  lecture  was  a  model  of  retro- 
gressive prudence." 

When  Mr.  Barton,  who  fraternally  went  shares  in  a 
very  slow  cab  with  Mr.  Carlton,  reached  Cliff's  End,  the 
rest  of  the  party  were  already  assembled  in  the  drawing- 
room.  Lady  Conway's  dress  and  Lord  Cotswold's  some- 
what florid  presence  made  him  feel  the  moment  he  en- 
tered as  though,  somehow  or  other,  the  homely  apartment 
had  been  refurnished.  Lord  Cotswold,  divining  that 
Miss  Arundel  was  not  endowed  with  the  gifts  which  capt- 
ure the  attention  of  strangers,  was  devoting  himself  to 
her  with  a  benignant  courtliness,  and  was  actually  talk- 
ing about  poultry.  Mr.  Hugo,  on  his  best  behavior,  was 
smiling  a  shy  smile,  and  was  explaining  to  Lady  Conway, 
who  sat  in  a  window  and  encouraged  him,  that  the  bank 
of  shadowy  purple  rising  along  the  horizon  was  the  shad- 

161 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

ow  of  the  earth  cast  upward  by  the  departed  sun ;  while 
Oswald  looked  on  in  his  most  diplomatic  of  attitudes, 
feeling  too  superior  to  be  jealous;  and  Miss  Vivian,  dis- 
tinguished among  the  rest  as  though  she  were  some  ex- 
pensive flower,  exhibited  a  smiling  weariness  which  was 
ready  for  its  ornamental  duties. 

"Ah,"  she  said  to  Mr.  Barton,  with  some  slight  signs 
of  animation,  "  I'm  glad  you've  come.  I  believe  we're 
to  be  fellow- victims." 

This  intimate  welcome  would  have  comforted  Mr.  Bar- 
ton greatly  had  he  not  caught  sight  of  something  which 
produced  in  him  a  new  disturbance.  Lady  Susannah, 
who  had  at  first  escaped  his  observation,  came  forward 
from  somewhere,  in  conversation  with  a  male  guest,  and 
the  two,  conversing  still,  took  up  a  position  on  the  hearth- 
rug. This  guest  was  the  very  man  who,  half  an  hour 
ago,  had  been  pompously  enunciating  in  their  shallowest 
and  most  childish  form  doctrines  which  were  fatal  to  all 
spiritual  religion,  and  declaring  that  the  earliest  evi- 
dence which  we  possess  of  the  Lord's  resurrection  was 
due  to  the  action  of  the  sun  on  the  back  of  St.  Paul's 
head.  And  to  this  man  with  the  quiet,  intrepid  eyes — 
this  Satan  in  modern  clothes — Mr.  Barton's  hostess — 
his  simple,  his  Christian  hostess — was  talking  confiden- 
tially, with  a  touch  of  pink  in  her  cheeks,  and  with  an 
eagerness  almost  girlish.  Moreover,  so  far  as  Mr.  Bar- 
ton could  gather,  the  subject  which  the  two  were  dis- 
cussing had  some  connection  with  the  lecture. 

To  a  certain  extent  he  was  right.  "Of  course,  Dr. 
Thistlewood,"  Lady  Susannah  had  been  saying,  "  I 
couldn't  understand  some  of  it,  but  I'm  quite  sure  that 
nerves  have  a  great  deal  to  do  with  all  of  us.  My  niece 
there,  whom  I  think  you  know — she's  stronger  now, 
thank  God! — her  health,  her  spirits,  one  might  almost 
say  her  thoughts,  have  seemed  at  times  to  be  hanging 
on  a  hair-trigger." 

"  Ah,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  looking  in  Miss  Vivian's 
direction,  "a  very  interesting  young  lady — to  me  par- 

162 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

ticularly  so.  Could  you  tell  me  a  little  more  about 
her?" 

Lady  Susannah  told  him  the  story  of  the  attack  of 
influenza,  and  what  had  followed  it,  not  omitting  to 
mention  the  girl's  dread  of  thunder. 

"That  must,"  she  said,  "be  purely  the  result  of  at- 
mospheric conditions  on  her  nerves;  for,  as  to  her  mind, 
nobody  could  be  more  sensible.  Before  she  came  to  me 
she  was  under  Dr.  Gonteau  at  Nice." 

"Indeed!"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood.  "He's  one  of  my 
best  friends.  Well,  Lady  Susannah,  nothing  is  new  to 
doctors.  What  first  interested  me  in  your  niece  was  a 
likeness  to  a  certain  young  woman — though,  of  course, 
there  are  great  differences — whom  I  once  came  across 
in  Italy  and  once  again  in  Scotland." 

"  Did  she,"  asked  Lady  Susannah,  "  suffer  from  nerves, 
too?" 

Dr.  Thistlewood  laughed.  "  It's  because  the  two," 
he  said,  "are  so  utterly  unlike  in  point  of  nervousness, 
that  I  find  something  interesting  in  their  general  and 
superficial  likeness.  Often  such  a  likeness  means  a  like- 
ness in  character  also.  In  the  case  of  twins  this  is  some- 
times extremely  striking." 

Dr.  Thistlewood  and  his  hostess  were  by  this  time  on 
the  hearth  -  rug,  and  not  only  Mr.  Barton  but  others 
were  exhibiting  an  inclination  to  listen  to  them. 

"  My  dear  Dr.  Gustav,"  said  Lady  Conway,  looking 
placidly  up  at  him,  "what's  all  this  about  twins?  Aren't 
you  becoming  rather  Gampish?" 

"I  was,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "telling  Lady  Susan- 
nah that  the  physical  likeness  between  twins  is  often 
accompanied  by  a  moral  likeness  also.  Indeed,  if  their 
physical  likeness  and  the  likeness  of  their  external  cir- 
cumstances were  complete,  their  lives  and  thoughts 
would  be  as  similar  as  the  movements  of  two  similar 
clocks.  You  think  I'm  laughing,"  he  went  on,  "but  I 
and  other  doctors  have  been  collecting  cases  which  bear 
on  this  very  point.  I  can  tell  you  of  two  cases  which 

163 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

came  under  my  own  notice.  Two  twin  Alsatians,  at 
the  age  of  thirty- two — one  in  Paris,  the  other  in  San 
Francisco — were  both  attacked  simultaneously  by  rheu- 
matic opthalmia.  Three  years  later,  by  acts  of  similar 
carelessness — one  at  Liverpool,  the  other  at  the  Central 
Railway  Station  in  New  York — both  received  similar 
injuries  on  the  right  cheek,  and  ever  afterward  bore  a 
similar  scar.  Of  another  pair — these  were  natives  of 
Jersey — one  went  for  years  to  India,  the  other  was  a 
lawyer  in  London.  At  the  age  of  fifty-five,  not  having 
met  for  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century,  on  the  same 
day,  and  at  the  same  hour  of  the  afternoon,  both  were 
found  to  have  been  buying  old-fashioned  champagne- 
glasses — one  at  a  shop  in  Hamburg,  the  other  at  a  shop 
in  Inverness." 

"But,"  interposed  Mr.  Barton,  unable  any  longer  to 
contain  himself,  "may  not  we  poor  priests  be  allowed 
to  maintain  in  our  folly  that  it  is  the  likeness  of  the  two 
souls  which  produces  that  of  the  bodies,  instead  of  the 
reverse,  as  I  gather  that  you  suggest  yourself?" 

"I  should,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  courteously,  "be 
the  last  man  in  the  world  to  attempt  the  refutation  of 
the  view  which  you  put  forward.  I  was  only  speaking  of 
facts.  I  was  not  even  suggesting  an  explanation  of  them. ' ' 

"I  should  imagine,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  the  spirit  of  op- 
position rising  in  him,  "  that  even  the  facts  were  difficult 
to  prove.  I  should  like  to  ask  you  if  there  is  a  single 
pair  of  persons  on  record  to  whom  you  or  your  friends, 
on  your  own  grounds  of  observation,  would  attribute 
absolute  likeness,  whether  of  mind  or  body?" 

"  I  am  so  far,"  replied  Dr.  Thistlewood,  apparently 
unconscious  of  Mr.  Barton's  militant  tone,  "from  saying 
that  such  a  case  exists  that  I  should  set  it  down  as  being, 
from  the  nature  of  things,  impossible.  If  twins  were 
alike  at  their  birth,  they  would  be  differently  situated 
afterward,  since  no  two  bodies  can  be  absolutely  in  the 
same  place  at  once.  They  would  be  like  two  clocks  side 
by  side  in  the  Greenwich  Observatory,  which,  an  at- 

164 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

tendant  told  me,  kept  pretty  much  the  same  time — that 
is  to  say,  he  added,  if  we  allow  for  the  difference  of 
longitude." 

This  illustration  produced  a  general  laugh,  and  the 
subject  of  the  twins  lost  itself  among  the  general  triv- 
ialities of  the  tea-table.  Then  came  the  time  when  the 
promised  music  was  called  for.  Oswald  opened  the 
piano,  and  Miss  Vivian  and  Mr.  Barton  retired  to  the 
other  end  of  the  room  to  select  from  a  pile  of  music  some 
duet  suitable  to  the  occasion. 

"  Will  you  take  it  to  the  piano  ?"  said  Miss  Vivian,  when 
such  a  piece  was  found.  "  And  please  ask  for  candles. 
It's  dark  in  that  corner.  I'll  come  in  another  moment." 

She  turned  away  as  she  spoke,  and,  going  alone  to  a 
window,  she  seemed  to  have  forgotten  all  else  in  con- 
templation of  the  gathering  twilight,  as  she  had  done  on 
another  occasion,  when  Sir  Rawlin  prematurely  left  her. 
Mr.  Barton  meanwhile  set  himself  down  at  the  instrument 
and  ran  his  fingers  over  the  keys,  with  a  masterful  and 
brilliant  touch  which,  he  could  not  help  feeling,  gave  an 
additional  point  to  his  recent  attacks  on  Dr.  Thistle- 
wood.  Dr.  Thistlewood  himself,  who  was  watching  Miss 
Vivian  closely,  gradually  approached,  though  he  did  not 
attempt  to  join  her. 

"Nest,  my  dear,"  said  Lady  Susannah,  presently, 
"come,  we  are  all  waiting  for  you." 

But  the  girl  seemed  not  to  hear,  and  her  conduct  was 
just  beginning  to  excite  general  attention  when  Dr. 
Thistlewood  moved  quickly  toward  her,  and  contrived 
to  give  the  impression  that  what  detained  her  was  a 
conversation  with  himself. 

"You  are  wanting  to  go  to  sleep,"  he  said,  slightly 
pinching  her  wrist.  "Blink  your  eyes;  look  at  me. 
Wake  up.  You  are  rested." 

Her  face  at  once  recovered  its  usual  aspect.  "  What!" 
she  said.  "Are  they  waiting?  I  beg  everybody's  par- 
don." And  hastening  to  the  piano  she  stationed  herself 
at  Mr.  Barton's  side. 

165 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

The  piece  they  had  selected  for  performance  was 
recognized  by  every  one  from  the  first  preliminary 
chords  that  sounded  at  Mr.  Barton's  touch.  "Oh  for 
the  wings  of  a  dove!" — it  was  a  cry  that  appeals  to  all. 
Even  Lady  Conway  was  moved.  In  the  exquisite  tenor 
of  Mr.  Barton's  voice  she  recognized  a  treasure  which 
would  be  invaluable  at  her  own  small  concerts;  and  the 
girl,  when  to  this  tenor  she  joined  her  own  soprano, 
seemed  to  be  lifted  from  her  lassitude  on  the  wings  of  her 
own  voice,  and  be  borne  by  them  far  away  toward  the 
wilderness  of  desired  rest. 

"The  clergyman's  singing,"  said  Lord  Cotswold  to 
Mr.  Carlton,  "  is  magnificent.  He  interests  me.  Every 
muscle  of  his  face  is  tense  with  feeling  still.  He  wants 
her  to  sing  again,  but  she  won't.  She  has  gone  back  to 
Thistlewood." 

"Do  you,"  Dr.  Thistlewood  was  saying  to  her,  "hap- 
pen, by  any  chance,  to  have  any  relations  in  Italy?" 

"  No,"  she  said.     "  What  makes  you  ask  ?" 

"  You  remind  me,"  he  replied,  "  of  some  one  I  once  met 
at  Siena  who  was,  I  think,  married  to  an  Italian.  In 
some  ways,  though  not  in  others,  the  likeness  is  very 
curious,  though  nobody  would  be  likely  to  mistake  one 
of  you  for  the  other.  I  was  wondering  whom  you  re- 
minded me  of  when  I  met  you  first  at  the  mesmerist's." 

"I  hope,"  said  Miss  Vivian,  with  an  indifferent  smile, 
"  that  she  was  nice.  I  was  never  in  Italy  myself.  I  only 
wish  I  had  been.  I  have  looked  at  it  so  often  from 
Mentone.  See — we've  disturbed  Mr.  Barton.  Why  has 
he  left  off  singing?" 

"My  dear  Mr.  Barton,"  said  Lord  Cotswold,  "accept 
my  deepest  thanks.  My  own  piano  and  music-room — 
I  have  both — are  as  silent  as  the  dust  of  Adam.  Per- 
haps you  will  favor  me  one  of  these  days  by  breathing 
into  them  a  passing  soul.  And  you,  young  lady,"  he 
went  on,  as  he  turned  to  Miss  Vivian,  "  I've  just  been 
telling  Mr.  Barton  that  I  too  have  a  piano  of  my  own. 
The  ogre's  castle  is  by  this  time  fit  to  receive  victims. 

1 66 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

I  must  get  your  aunt  to  beguile  you  into  entering  its 
dangerous  precincts." 

"  Dr.  Gustav,  before  you  go,"  said  Lady  Conway,  join- 
ing the  group,  "  let  me  ask  you  if  you  know  that,  on  this 
auspicious  occasion,  we  have  not  only  musicians  among 
us  but  also  a  sucking  scientist.  Behold  him!"  she  went 
on,  as  she  brought  Mr.  Hugo  forward  in  a  manner  which 
vaguely  suggested  that  she  had  hold  of  him  by  the  collar. 
"  He's  been  telling  me  all  sorts  of  things  about  the  sun 
and  the  earth's  shadow;  and  he's  going  to  reform  hu- 
manity by  manufacturing  a  new  Adam;  what  is  it  out 
of,  Mr.  Hugo — a  mixture  of  glue  and  radium?" 

"Well,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  taking  Mr.  Hugo's 
hand,  "  I  suppose  she  is  thinking  of  radiobes.  You  and 
I  are  brothers  in  research — is  that  so?  Only  you  have 
the  advantage  of  me,  for  the  future  is  the  kingdom  of  the 
young.  You  must  come  and  see  me  at  Lord  Cotswold's 
wonderful  castle.  We  might  hit  on  some  bits  of  ap- 
paratus which  perhaps  you  would  find  useful." 

Mr.  Hugo,  who,  under  Lady  Conway 's  drastic  patron- 
age, had  hardly  known  whether  to  feel  naughty  or  flat- 
tered, acknowledged  this  invitation  with  the  broadest 
and  most  innocent  of  smiles. 

"Well,"  said  Lady  Conway,  "I  must  begin  distrib- 
uting my  adieus.  Good-bye,  Miss  Nest.  I  must  kiss 
you,  my  dear.  You  have  sung  beautifully.  Mr.  Barton, 
we  have  not  been  introduced,  so  imagine  that  I  am  in- 
dulging in  the  presumption  of  praising  you  behind  your 
back.  Dr.  Gustav,  we  shall  meet  later.  Mr.  Hugo,  come 
here.  Take  me  out  to  my  carriage." 

Thus  the  company  departed,  with  the  exception  of  Mr. 
Barton.  He,  under  the  pretext  of  desiring  to  find  some 
music,  managed  to  outstay  the  rest;  and  while  he  and 
Miss  Vivian  were  jointly  engaged  in  looking  for  it  the 
members  of  the  family  dispersed  themselves,  leaving  him 
and  her  alone. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  looking  at  her  with  an  air 
of  reproachful  friendliness,  "  and  so  the  lecture  has  come 

167 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

and  gone.  I'm  sure  you  are  none  the  wiser  for  it.  You 
certainly  don't  look  happier — although  one  of  its  con- 
sequences has  been  a  kiss  from  your  new  friend.  Ah, 
that's  the  book  I  wanted.  It's  one  of  my  own.  Thank 
you  very  much,  and  good-bye.  You  sang  just  a  little 
flat  in  two  places,  but  it  wasn't  much." 

"Are  you,"  said  Miss  Vivian,  "really  in  so  great  a 
hurry  ?  Why  do  you  look  at  me  like  that  ?  What  have 
I  done  that's  dreadful?" 

"It's  nothing,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  suspending  his  prep- 
arations for  departure — "  it's  nothing  that  you've  done 
personally." 

"Oh,"  said  the  girl,  "then  there  is  something,  after 
all.  Well,  then,  tell  me — what  have  I  done  impersonal- 
ly ?  Has  the  honor  of  Lady  Conway's  kiss  any  tendency 
to  unfit  me  for  confirmation  ?" 

"Since  you  put  it  to  me,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  "I  may 
as  well  speak  honestly.  Indeed,  I  have  been  longing  to 
do  so.  I'm  thinking  of  nothing  that  you've  done.  I'm 
thinking  of  something  that  seems  to  be  going  on  round 
you.  The  atmosphere  in  which  you  live  seems  changing 
— growing  less  and  less  like  that  in  which  I  would  wish 
to  see  you  live  myself."  He  spoke  with  a  new  confidence 
born  of  his  late  experiences — his  triumphs  as  a  musician 
in  the  drawing-room,  and  a  sense  that  he  himself,  what- 
ever Dr.  Thistlewood's  technical  knowledge,  was  fully 
capable  of  exposing  his  childish  fallacies  as  a  philosopher. 
"  Take  Lord  Cotswold,"  he  proceeded.  "  Lord  Cotswold 
may  have  fine  qualities.  There  is  something  about  him 
which  suggests  this;  but  he  has  led  a  tainted  life.  Take 
Lady  Conway — this  masterful  London  lady.  Whatever 
her  private  conduct,  she  is  of  the  world,  worldly.  I 
caught  a  jesting  phrase  of  hers — something  about  the 
new  Adam.  A  single  phrase — a  slight  nuance  of  tone — 
will  sometimes  speak  volumes.  Sacred  things  for  that 
woman  are  matter  for  a  passing  smile.  But  worse  still 
is  this  doctor,  with  his  wealth  and  his  melodramatic  rep- 
utation and  his  royal  friends  and  his  grand  seigneur 

1 68 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

manners  and  —  let  us  admit  it  —  his  professional  skill 
and  the  fuss  which  such  people  as  Lord  Cotswold  and 
Lady  Conway  make  with  him.  All  this  does  but  make 
him  the  more  dangerous;  for,  with  regard  to  the  deepest 
things — the  things  that  alone  matter — that  man  is  a  char- 
latan. That  lecture  of  his — I  tell  you  this  candidly — I 
should  several  times  have  got  up  and  left  the  room,  if 
it  had  not  been  my  wish  to  acquaint  myself  with  the  sort 
of  thing  you  were  being  exposed  to.  He  may  not  say 
in  so  many  words  that  the  soul  is  of  no  importance,  but 
he  sinks  it  in  the  body.  Body  for  him  is  everything; 
and  if  you  want  to  see  where  that  leads  him,  you  may 
remember  what  he  said  about  St.  Paul." 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Miss  Vivian,  wearily,  "  that  when 
you  talk  like  this  you  really  rather  put  my  back  up. 
You  treat  me  as  if  I  were  a  baby.  What  possible  harm 
could  that  very  dry  lecture  do  me?  I'm  sure  I  don't 
know  what  Dr.  Thistlewood  means.  When  he  talked 
about  St.  Paul  he  reminded  me  a  little  of  Mr.  Hugo; 
but  he  isn't  silly  like  Mr.  Hugo,  at  all  events,  who 
thinks  that  human  beings  can  be  made  out  of  beef- 
tea." 

"Forgive  me,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  half  smiling.  "I 
don't  wish  to  affront  you." 

To  his  delight  and  astonishment  the  girl  held  out  her 
hand  to  him. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  it  is  you  who  have  got  to  forgive  me. 
It  was  quite  wrong  of  me  to  be  irritated.  But  I'm  not, 
perhaps,  in  the  best  of  spirits.  There  are  so  many  things 
which  you  can  tell  me  and  which  I  don't  know,  and 
which  would  help  me.  Why  do  you  waste  your  time  in 
telling  me  things  I  do  know  ?  Whether  I  shall  manage 
to  save  my  own  soul  or  not,  neither  you  nor  I  can  tell, 
but  I'm  not  in  the  least  danger  of  forgetting  the  fact 
that  I  have  one." 

"  Hark!"  said  Mr.  Barton.  "  Some  one  is  coming.  If 
I  don't  see  you  before,  you  will  hear  me  preach  on  Sun- 
day the  first  of  my  confirmation  sermons.  Fancy,  when 

169 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

you  hear  me,  that  I  am  talking  to  you  alone.  I  shall 
deal  with  the  very  points  which  I  have  in  my  mind  now. 
I  only  long  to  help  you. — Ah,  Mr.  Carlton,  I  and  my  fel- 
low-performer have  been  looking  for  one  of  my  music- 
books.  We've  found  the  truant,  and  I  must  be  off." 


CHAPTER   IX 

"  I'M  glad,"  said  Lord  Cotswold,  "that  you  thought,  as 

1  we  went  away,  of  asking  the  young  scientist  to  come 
in  after  dinner.  What  will  that  boy  be  thinking — what 
will  men  of  science  be  thinking — what  will  the  world  be 
thinking — when  he  is  as  old  as  I  am?" 

Dr.  Thistlewood  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Darwin," 
he  said,  "  set  a  stone  rolling  the  course  of  which  was  be- 
yond his  own  wildest  conjecture." 

The  speakers  were  standing  together  in  front  of  a 
large  fireplace  the  arch  of  which  was  like  the  entrance 
to  a  mosque.  Above  it,  wreathed  in  arabesques,  was 
a  clock  with  Turkish  numerals,  whose  hands  were  about 
to  register  the  hour  of  half-past  eight.  The  room  to 
which  this  fireplace  belonged,  large  and  finely  propor- 
tioned, was  tawdry,  even  in  the  dim  lamplight,  with  tar- 
nished colors  and  gilding.  With  its  blue  ceiling,  on 
which  glimmered  large  yellow  crescents,  and  its  mirrors, 
whose  red  -  and  -  green  frames  culminated  in  horseshoe 
curves,  it  was  not  unlike  some  cigar-divan  or  so-called 
"Oriental  cafe","  the  haunt  of  the  jeunesse dorie  of  some 
great  commercial  town. 

"It's  a  pity,"  said  Lord  Cotswold,  "that  Rawlin  was 
not  able  to  come.  The  charming  guest  we  are  waiting 
for  had  once  upon  a  time  a  tendresse  for  him." 

"Who,"  said  a  voice  in  the  doorway,  eclipsing  that  of 
a  servant — "  who  had  a  tendresse  for  whom,  if  I  may  ask 
an  indiscreet  question  ?"  The  questioner  was  Lady  Con- 
way. 

"We  were  talking,"  said  Lord  Cotswold,  "of  Rawlin. 
He's  speechifying  to-night,  or  he'd  be  here." 
«  171 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

"Ah,"  said  Lady  Conway,  carelessly,  "women  began 
early  with  Rawlin;  and  I  don't  feel  sure  that  they've 
quite  done  with  him  yet.  He  began  with  the  old.  He's 
now  trying  the  young." 

"  The  power  of  exciting  the  love  of  even  an  experienced 
man,"  said  Lord  Cotswold,  ignoring  any  personal  in- 
nuendo in  this  speech,  "may  exist  in  a  young  girl  just 
as  well  as  in  the  most  accomplished  woman.  The  rea- 
son is  that  what  a  man  loves  in  a  woman  is  no  one  of  the 
qualities  which  he  would  value  in  a  mere  human  being, 
as  such — intellect,  sound  judgment,  knowledge,  or  even 
complete  respectability.  These  may  be  his  own  pos- 
session. Any  male  friend  may  possess  them.  What 
he  loves  in  a  woman  is  a  something  forever  outside  him- 
self— the  mystery  of  all  the  horizons,  the  mystery  of  the 
Feminine  in  the  universe.  In  the  feminine  organisms, 
as  our  friend  Dr.  Gustav  would  say,  which  are  fit  to  hold 
it,  this  mystery  is  like  wine  trembling  in  ever  fresh  ves- 
sels, and  ever  fresh  itself  from  the  eternal  vine.  What 
does  it  matter  whether  the  vessel  was  made  this  week 
or  the  week  before,  when  what  sparkles  at  its  brim  is 
older  than  all  the  existing  stars  ?  The  magic  in  a  young 
girl's  eyes  is  as  old  as  the  summer  sea,  just  as  the  sum- 
mer sea  is  as  young  as  a  young  girl's  eyes." 

In  the  dining-room  Lady  Conway  looked  up  from  her 
soup.  "  You  always,"  she  said  to  her  host,  "  had  a  cook 
above  the  common.  I'm  a  better  judge  of  the  Masculine 
making  stock  in  his  own  kitchen  than  I  am  of  the  Eternal 
Feminine  making  a  mace'doine  of  grapes  out  of  the  uni- 
verse. So,  unless  we  are  like  the  poet  Anacreon,  and  are 
absolutely  unable  to  sing  about  anything  except  love, 
suppose  you  were  to  tell  me  a  little  something  about 
your  travels  —  you  and  Dr.  Gustav.  He's  almost  as 
practical  as  I  am." 

The  two  travellers  accordingly  began  upon  this  fertile 
subject,  Lady  Conway,  who  had  been  round  the  world 
herself,  comparing  very  vivaciously  her  own  experiences 
with  theirs. 

172 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

"By-the-way,"  she  said,  as  dinner  was  drawing  to  a 
conclusion,  "do  you  know  whom  I  met  at  Calcutta? 
Charlie  Galton.  You  remember  that  waist  he  cultivated. 
Well,  he's  now  the  shape  of  a  football.  As  soon  as  I  saw 
him  I  understood  how  that  scented  wife  of  his,  with  her 
bangles,  her  roaming  eyes,  and  her  necklace  of  tiger's- 
claws,  had  so  often,  and  at  such  uncanonical  hours,  a  cer- 
tain gray  horse  standing  at  the  door  of  her  bungalow." 

"Who,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  stopping  her,  "is  the 
poet  Anacreon  now?  It's  just  the  same  with  all  of  you. 
Who  is  in  love  with  whom  ?  Your  conversation  is  always 
coming  back  to  that.  What  does  it  matter  ?  You  might 
just  as  well  talk  about  who  gave  whom  the  measles." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Lady  Conway.  "  I'm  a  philosopher 
myself  in  my  own  way,  though  I  don't  talk  about  uni- 
verses ;  and  I'm  amused  by  seeing  the  follies  that  women 
can  make  men  commit — or,  rather,  I  should  say,  bring 
out,  for  the  foolishness  was  in  the  men  before." 

"Oh,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "that  amuses  you,  does 
it  ?  No  woman,  you  say,  could  force  a  man  into  follies 
unless  these  were  already  in  harmony  with  the  man's 
general  nature.  That,  as  I  gather,  is  the  philosophy 
which  forms  the  basis  of  your  amusement.  Well,  I've 
been  trying  some  experiments  which  bear  on  this  amus- 
ing question.  Indeed,  I  had  been  arranging  to  amuse 
you  after  dinner  by  showing  you  one — not  on  yourself, 
so  you  needn't  feel  the  least  alarmed." 

Unable  to  guess  what  he  meant,  Lady  Conway  turned 
away  from  him. 

"Tell  me,  Lord  Cotswold,"  she  said,  "who  built  this 
madman's  house  ?  And  what  on  earth  made  you  take  it  ?" 

"An  Anglo-Indian,"  replied  Lord  Cotswold,  "built  it. 
As  to  my  taking  it,  I  won't  tell  you  my  reasons.  Dr. 
Gustav  shall  show  them  to  you  after  dinner,  and  per- 
haps something  else  besides." 

At  this  moment  the  dining-room  door  opened,  and  a 
servant's  voice  out  of  the  shadow  announced:  "  Mr.  Hugo 
Arundel." 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

"My  dear  young  friend,"  said  Lord  Cotswold,  rising  to 
meet  him,  "  I'm  delighted  to  see  you.  I  hope  my  car- 
riage came  for  you  in  good  time.  Sit  between  me  and 
Dr.  Thistlewood.  He's  going,  after  dinner,  to  give  us 
a  little  experiment.  He  has  many  things  that  will  in- 
terest you.  He  has  an  apparatus  for  taking  moving 
photographs.  No  doubt  you're  a  photographer  your- 
self. You  might  do  us  all  by  limelight." 

Lady  Conway  looked  at  him  with  a  confidential  and 
laughing  eye.  "  Not  me,  Mr.  Hugo,"  she  said.  "  I 
strictly  forbid  that." 

Mr.  Hugo,  meanwhile,  who  had  refused  various  dain- 
ties for  fear  he  should  seem  like  a  child  had  down  for 
dessert,  condescended  in  a  manly  way  to  sip  at  a  glass 
of  port,  and  looked  ready  to  be  pleased  with  and  also  to 
explain  everything. 

"  Dodson,"  said  Lord  Cotswold  to  a  servant,  whom  he 
summoned  with  a  small  hand-bell,  "  have  all  the  lamps 
been  lighted  ?  Come,  then,  Lady  Conway,  let  us  go,  and 
you  shall  see  why  I  took  this  house." 

From  the  gaudy  drawing-room,  in  which  they  had  as- 
sembled before  dinner,  they  passed  on  to  a  great  circular 
saloon,  decorated  in  the  same  style,  but  more  barely  fur- 
nished, and  having  in  it  a  grand-piano.  The  windows 
opened  into  a  conservatory,  the  floor  of  which,  on  a 
lower  level,  was  reached  by  a  flight  of  steps.  Lady  Con- 
way  descended  into  this,  and  saw  that,  along  the  face  of 
the  house,  the  structure  extended  itself  in  the  form  of 
a  glazed  gallery.  At  the  end  of  the  gallery — for  she  was 
determined  to  see  everything — she  discovered  a  room  in  a 
tower  with  a  balcony  that  overlooked  the  sea.  Ash-trays 
and  match-boxes  showed  that  it  was  designed  for  smokers. 

"Lord  Cotswold,"  she  said,  when  they  all  had  re- 
gained the  music-room,  "  I'm  a  convert  to  your  taste 
already.  That  place  was  made  for  lovers.  You  posi- 
tively ought  to  give  a  party." 

"  Precisely,"  said  Lord  Cotswold,  "  and  have  the  priest 
to  play — a  small  party,  for  in  Lent  he  wouldn't  come 

174 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

to  a  large  one.  It's  the  very  thing  I've  been  contem- 
plating. Before  you  go  I  must  consult  you  about  it. 
But  first  let  us  finish  our  explorations." 

He  opened,  as  he  spoke,  a  pair  of  tall  vermilion  doors, 
which  admitted  them  to  a  wide  passage,  carpetless,  bare, 
and  echoing. 

"  Here,"  he  said,  "  I  shall  hand  you  over  to  our  friend. 
I  took  this  house,  not  for  the  sake  of  the  lovers — though 
I  hope  we  shall  have  many  of  them — but  because  it  en- 
abled me  to  provide  him  with  a  separate  kingdom  of  his 
own.  He  thinks,  when  I  leave,  of  continuing  as  its  king, 
on  his  own  account." 

When  they  reached  the  end  of  this  passage,  doors  were 
again  opened. 

"Now,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood  to  Lady  Conway,  "will 
you  favor  me  by  walking  in?  And  will  you  favor  me 
also  with  your  opinion  on  what  you  see?" 

Lady  Conway  looked  blankly  round  her.  "  My  first 
opinion  is,"  she  said,  "that  I  have  got  into  the  reading- 
room  of  a  mechanics'  institute.  My  second  is  that  I 
want  to  get  to  the  fire." 

The  large,  gaunt  room,  or  gallery,  in  which  they  were 
now  standing,  was  illuminated  by  naked  gas-jets,  which 
emphasized  its  general  bleakness.  The  floor  was  cov- 
ered with  coarse  cocoa-nut  matting.  The  tables  were 
of  white  deal.  Against  the  walls  were  some  unorna- 
mental  cupboards,  some  photographs  of  human  figures, 
obviously  taken  for  scientific  rather  than  for  artistic 
purposes,  and  alternating  with  these  were  mysterious 
anatomical  diagrams.  At  one  end  was  something  in  the 
shape  of  a  tall  wardrobe  draped  with  curtains,  and  at 
the  other,  partially  hidden  by  black  cloths  thrown  over 
them,  were  a  large  gramophone  and  other  sets  of  appara- 
tus, which  made  fitful  glimmerings  with  their  polished 
brass  and  mahogany. 

"  Dr.  Gustav,"  said  Lady  Conway,  suddenly,  with  an 
accent  of  slight  alarm,  "  you  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that 
you've  opened  a  private  hospital!" 

175 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

Dr.  Thistlewood  looked  at  her  with  an  air  of  provoking 
gravity.  "Don't  be  alarmed,"  he  said.  "My  patients 
are  not  infectious.  Indeed,  I  have  only  one — an  old 
servant  of  our  host's,  on  whom  I  am  keeping  an  eye — 
and  her  malady  is  so  far  from  dangerous  that  she  may 
possibly  outlive  us  all.  It  is,  however,  quite  true  that, 
as  soon  as  our  host  departs,  I  shall  take  this  as  a  home 
of  rest  for  a  certain  class  of  invalids.  That  gramophone 
will  reutter  my  patients'  confessions  for  me,  and  those 
other  implements  are  for  registering  their  pulses,  their 
breathing,  and  their  temperatures,  when  in  various  men- 
tal conditions,  and  for  taking  and  exhibiting  moving  pho- 
tographs of  them  at  critical  stages  in  their  careers." 

"This  monster,"  said  Lady  Conway  to  Lord  Cotswold, 
"is  making  me  quite  uncomfortable.  What  is  it  that 
he  really  does  here?  Is  this  a  dissecting-room?  And 
does  he  vivisect  babies?  And  have  you  tucked  him 
away  in  this  out-house  so  that  no  one  may  hear  their 
cries?" 

"No,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "I  don't  vivisect  ba- 
bies. I  should  like  to  vivisect  criminals  of  a  certain 
class,  instead  of  sending  them  to  the  gallows  or  the 
electric  chair.  But  why  cry  for  the  moon?  Luckily, 
Nature  helps  us.  She  gives  us  the  vivisection  of  dis- 
ease, especially  brain  disease.  Also  we  have  hypnotism, 
which  is  a  kind  of  vivisection  in  disguise,  and  which  sen- 
timentalists don't  attack  because  they  don't  yet  under- 
stand it.  But  all  this  is  dull  for  you.  Let  us  go  back 
to  common  life.  You  said  at  dinner  that  when  women 
made  fools  of  men  they  were  only  drawing  out  the  folly 
that  was  latent  in  the  men  already." 

"My  dear  man,"  said  Lady  Conway,  "you  mustn't 
take  me  au  pied  de  la  lettre  like  that.  No  doubt,  as  you 
more  than  once  have  taken  occasion  to  tell  me,  I  often 
talk  a  very  great  deal  of  nonsense." 

"At  all  events,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "in  that  par- 
ticular piece  of  nonsense  you  suggested  a  very  reason- 
able question.  You  remember  the  mesmerist  whose  per- 

176 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

formances  you  just  missed.  She  had,  of  course,  been 
doing  the  usual  tricks  —  making  various  people  do  a 
variety  of  ludicrous  things  which  they  wouldn't  have 
done  had  they  been  in  their  normal  senses,  and  of  hav- 
ing done  which  they  were  afterward  quite  unconscious. 
Well,  there  you've  got  something  which,  as  every  doc- 
tor knows,  is  as  easy  and  commonplace  as  the  feat  of  a 
school-boy  who,  for  a  practical  joke,  should  make  an- 
other school-boy  sick  by  putting  an  emetic  in  his  tea.  A 
hypnotist  can  control  the  actions  of  nine  people  out  of 
ten,  to  some  extent.  That's  admitted  on  all  sides.  But 
a  certain  school  of  investigators — doctors  and  others — 
contend  that  this  power  is  limited  in  a  peculiar  and  most 
impressive  way.  A  hypnotized  person,  they  say,  can  be 
made  to  do  anything,  no  matter  how  contrary  to  his  normal 
judgment  and  proclivities,  with  one  startling  exception. 
He  can  never  be  made  to  do  anything  morally  wrong." 

A  bashful  inclination  to  speak  was  here  manifested  by 
Mr.  Hugo.  Lord  Cotswold  at  once  encouraged  him,  and 
Mr.  Hugo  brought  forth  his  wisdom. 

"  If,"  he  said,  still  shy,  yet  rejoicing  in  his  own  temer- 
ity, "  no  hypnotized  person  can  be  made  to  do  what  is 
wrong,  everything  done  by  a  hypnotized  person  must  be 
right.  So,  if  you  wanted  to  find  out  whether  a  thing  was 
wrong  or  right,  you  would  only  have  to  hypnotize  some- 
body and  see  if  he  could  be  made  to  do  it." 

"Bravo,  Mr.  Hugo!"  said  Lady  Conway,  laughing. 
"Mesmerize  your  aunt  Susannah  and  tell  her  to  elope 
with  a  bishop.  If  she  does,  the  bishop  will  know  that 
she  still  is  an  honest  woman.  Or  mesmerize  Oswald 
and  tell  him  to  elope  with  me — he  knows  that  I'm  deeply 
attached  to  him;  and  if  only  he's  safely  mesmerized  at 
the  time  when  he  does  the  deed  we  shall  both  of  us  be 
comfortably  sure  that  we  have  no  need  of  repentance. 
Look  here,  Dr.  Gustav,  do  you  happen  to  have  a  pin 
about  you  ?  I  see  that  this  rose  in  the  front  of  my  dress 
is  loose.  It's  only  an  artificial  one.  I  wear  it  for  the 
sake  of  modesty  rather  than  ornament." 

177 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

"  Do  you,"  said  Dr.  Thistle  wood,  as  if  a  sudden  thought 
had  occurred  to  him,  "  mind  waiting  a  moment  ?  I  must 
be  going  out  of  the  room  in  a  minute  or  two,  and  when  I 
come  back  I  will  bring  you  one.  Well,  our  young  friend 
here  has  made  an  excellent  criticism.  If  a  hypnotized 
person  can  be  made  to  do  nothing  wrong,  we've  an  in- 
strument ready  to  our  hands  for  solving  all  cases  of 
casuistry.  Unfortunately,  we  are  not  so  blessed.  One 
of  the  very  writers  who  has  urged  this  view  most  elabo- 
rately happens  to  allude  in  his  book  to  the  well-known 
case  of  a  boy — a  gentle,  excellent  boy — who  when  in  a 
condition  brought  on,  not  by  hypnosis  but  by  a  seizure, 
committed  a  most  atrocious  murder,  of  which  afterward 
in  his  normal  state  he  had  no  knowledge  or  memory. 
If  conscience  can  be  overturned  by  epilepsy,  it's  idle 
to  pretend  that  it  must  necessarily  be  immune  to  the 
influences  of  hypnotism.  Still,"  Dr.  Thistlewood  con- 
tinued— "  Lady  Conway,  I  hope  I'm  not  boring  you — if 
we  are  content  to  mean  by  conscience  merely  some  dis- 
position or  habit  ingrained  in  the  subject's  system,  it  may 
often  in  various  ways  be  able  to  resist  suggestion — just 
as  stupidity  /would — for  no  hypnotist  could  hypnotize 
a  dunce  into  a  Bacon.  Everything  is  a  question  of  de- 
gree. The  truth  is  that  the  degree  to  which  hypnotized 
subjects  are  plastic  under  the  influence  of  suggestion 
differs  in  different  cases;  and  we  can't  arrive  at  any 
general  conclusions  except  by  careful  experiments  on  a 
number  of  typical  subjects.  It  may  amuse  you  to  see 
the  way  in  which  a  test  can  be  made,  since  you  are,  as 
you  truly  say  of  yourself,  a  thoroughly  practical  woman. 
So  if  you'll  excuse  me  for  a  moment  I'll  make  my  short 
preparations;  and  my  young  friend  here,  if  he  likes  to 
do  so,  shall  come  with  me.  Lady  Conway,  you  needn't 
look  at  me  as  if  I  were  going  to  take  one  of  your  teeth  out. 
Come,  Mr.  Hugo  Arundel,  would  you  like  to  inspect  the 
preliminaries?" 

Mr.  Hugo,  who  had  been  alternately  contemplating 
the  scientific  pictures  on  the  walls  and  listening  to  Dr. 

178 


AN    IMMORTAL    SOUL 

Thistlewood  with  a  vaguely  gleeful  sense  that  what  the 
great  man  was  saying  would  be  distasteful  to  Mr.  Bar- 
ton, responded  to  this  summons  with  the  air  of  a  proud 
disciple. 

"That  picture  which,  I  see,  catches  your  eye,"  said 
Dr.  Thistlewood,  as  they  went  together  toward  a  farther 
door,  "  is  a  curious  little  animal  magnified.  We'll  have 
it  down  and  look  at  it  when  we  come  back." 

"What's  he  going  to  do?"  said  Lady  Conway,  when 
she  and  Lord  Cotswold  were  left  alone  together.  "  Your 
talk  about  your  travels  was  much  more  amusing  than 
this." 

"This,"  said  Lord  Cotswold,  laying  a  hand  on  her 
arm — for  he  still  retained  something  of  the  demeanor 
of  a  man  of  gallantry — "  is  only  another  form  of  travel- 
ling. It  is  travelling  in  the  world  of  knowledge ;  and  at 
present  it  has  this  advantage,  that  it  is  not  travelling  in 
a  crowd.  You  asked  me  for  my  traveller's  impressions," 
he  went  on,  abruptly.  "The  more  rapid  and  easy  the 
act  of  travel  becomes,  and  the  more  our  own  civilization 
is  diffusing  itself  throughout  the  remotest  regions,  the 
more  vividly  does  travel  on  myself  produce  one  great 
impression,  which  is  this — that  the  earth  is  no  bigger 
than  some  small  balloon's  small  car,  over  whose  wicker 
sides  we  peer  into  the  homeless  gulfs  around  us ;  but  the 
fact  that  this  infinite  space  supports  us  and  buoys  us  up, 
fanning  our  cheeks  and  touching  the  very  roots  of  our 
hair,  makes  us  feel  we  live  by  forces  compared  with  which 
this  world  is  nothing.  My  dear  friend,  pending  the  ar- 
rival of  Dr.  Gustav's  pin,  let  me  rearrange  your  rose  for 
you,  which  seems  in  danger  of  falling." 

Lord  Cotswold  made  the  rearrangement  a  pretext  for 
certain  attentions  which  some  women  would  have  re- 
sented, but  which  Lady  Conway  submitted  to  indiffer- 
ently with  a  faint,  sarcastic  smile.  This  tender  scene 
had  not  been  completed  very  long  before  Dr.  Thistle- 
wood  returned,  and  Mr.  Hugo  along  with  him.  Mr. 
Hugo's  face  and  gait  exhibited  the  happy  importance  of 

179 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

a  boy  who  has  just  been  promoted  from  a  jacket  to  a 
coat  with  tails. 

"Now,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  genially,  "while  we 
wait  for  a  few  minutes  we'll  amuse  Lady  Conway  by 
showing  her  a  pretty  picture — the  one  which  my  young 
friend  was  looking  at  when  we  went  out.  I'll  take  it 
down  from  the  wall,  and  then  we  shall  see  it  better. 
Now,  Lady  Conway,  what  should  you  say  that  this  is?" 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  she  replied,  rather  impa- 
tiently. "  It  looks  like  a  spider's  web  with  a  lot  of  lit- 
tle spiders  stuck  in  it.  But  you,  no  doubt,  have  some 
long  and  learned  name  for  it." 

"  Pretty  well,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  laughing.  "  It's 
a  little  animal  which  is  called  Microgamia  Socialis. 
Come,  Mr.  Arundel,  we'll  put  it  on  this  table.  Each  of 
these  little  blotches  is  a  living  animal  by  itself ;  but  they 
are  all  tied  together,  so  as  to  have  a  common  life,  by 
what  looks  like  a  spider's  web,  but  is  really  a  system  of 
nerves.  That's  a  rude  illustration  of  how  we  are  made 
ourselves.  We  are,  each  of  us,  a  number  of  life-centres, 
and  what  we  each  feel  ourselves  to  be  results  from  the 
manner  in  which  these  centres  are  tied  together." 

Mr.  Hugo  looked  at  the  picture  with  eager  and  de- 
lighted eyes.  "I  quite  understand,"  he  said.  "They 
are  something  like  the  radiobes,  which  I  hope  I  may  be 
able  to  show  you  in  my  bottle." 

"Good  Heavens!"  exclaimed  Lady  Conway,  with  a 
gasp.  "What  have  we  got  here?" 

Mr.  Hugo  turned  round  with  a  calm,  superior  smile. 
As  for  the  Microgamia  Socialis,  Lady  Conway  had  quite 
forgotten  it.  What  attracted  her  attention  was  the  en- 
trance of  a  female  domestic — a  pallid  woman  with  an 
amiable  but  strained  expression,  who  proceeded  to  dust 
the  chairs  in  a  very  business-like  manner,  till  she  came 
to  the  group  near  the  fireplace,  when  a  singular  thing 
happened.  Pausing  in  front  of  Lady  Conway,  and  look- 
ing not  at  her  face  but  at  a  point  about  ten  inches  be- 
low it,  she  quietly  plucked  from  its  place  the  wearer's 

1 80 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

artificial  rose  and,  retiring  a  little,  began  to  smell  it. 
Lady  Conway  was  in  the  act  of  making  a  horrified  gest- 
ure of  protest,  but  Dr.  Thistlewood,  seizing  her  wrist, 
checked  her. 

"Don't  mind  that,"  he  said.  "Madame  Levy  does 
that  daily.  Just  stop  quiet  and  listen. — Sarah  Davis, 
tell  me — where  did  you  find  that  flower?" 

The  woman  looked  slightly  puzzled.  "  It  was  float- 
ing," she  said,  "in  the  air,  sir,  just  in  front  of  the  fire- 
place, as  if  it  was  hanging  by  a  bit  of  string  or  a  cob- 
web." 

"How  many  people,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "do  you 
see  now  in  this  room?" 

"I  see  three,  sir,"  said  the  woman:  "yourself,  his 
lordship,  and  another — a  very  young  gentleman." 

"  You  don't  see  a  lady,  do  you?" 

"No,  sir,"  said  the  woman,  looking  round,  "I  don't 
see  no  lady  nowhere." 

"At  the  end  of  the  room,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "is 
a  cupboard  with  a  curtain  drawn  across  it.  Just  pull 
that  curtain  aside,  please.  You  will  find  Mrs.  Mark- 
ham,  his  lordship's  late  housekeeper,  who  tried  to  get 
you  into  trouble,  hiding  there." 

The  woman  obeyed  the  order,  and  presently  exposed 
to  view  a  life-sized  lay-figure,  or  doll,  draped  in  female 
clothing. 

"Do  you,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "see  anybody  try- 
ing to  hide  there  ?  You  do?  Very  good.  Who  is  it?" 

"Mrs.  Markham,  sir,  who  used  to  be  housekeeper." 

Dr.  Thistlewood  pointed  to  one  of  the  deal  tables  on 
which  were  standing  a  tumbler  and  a  bottle  of  water. 

"Sarah,"  he  said,  "go  over  to  that  table.  I've  an 
order  to  give  you  presently.  Now,  Lady  Conway,  watch. 
This  is  a  woman  who  ordinarily  would  not  hurt  a  fly." 
He  went  to  the  table  and  poured  some  water  into  the 
tumbler.  "Sarah,"  he  said,  "take  this,  and  be  careful 
how  you  hold  it.  In  that  tumbler  is  oil  of  vitriol.  You 
know  what  oil  of  vitriol  is.  If  it  touches  your  skin,  it 

181 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

burns  it  exactly  as  a  hot  fire  would.  If  it  touches  your 
eyes,  it  makes  them  blind  forever.  The  quantity  you 
have  in  that  glass,  if  thrown  over  a  woman,  would  kill 
her.  Are  you  quite  aware  of  that?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  woman,  holding  the  tumbler  gin- 
gerly, "  I  am  quite  aware  of  that." 

"Very  well,  then,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood.  "Without 
spilling  a  drop,  go  over  to  Mrs.  Markham  and  throw  the 
whole  of  it  in  her  face." 

Keeping  the  tumbler  away  from  her,  and  moving  with 
extravagant  caution,  while  Mr.  Hugo  watched  her  with 
a  highly  critical  smile,  the  woman  crossed  the  room  and 
dashed  the  water,  with  a  jerk,  in  the  face  of  the  lay- 
figure. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood.  "You  have 
burned  her  up  to  ashes.  There's  nobody  in  the  cup- 
board now.  Look — Mrs.  Markham's  gone." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  woman;  "there's  nobody  in  the 
cupboard  now." 

"  Well,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "  that's  a  good  riddance. 
You've  done  for  her.  And  now,  Sarah,  you  will  go  to 
bed  at  once.  You  will  sleep  quite  soundly ;  in  nine  hours 
you  will  wake,  and  you  won't  have  the  least  remem- 
brance of  having  been  in  this  room  to-night." 

When  the  door  had  closed  Dr.  Thistlewood  turned  to 
Lady  Con  way. 

"Come,"  he  said.  "What's  the  matter?  Would  you 
like  a  little  glass  of  brandy  ?  You  look  as  pale  as  if  you 
had  seen  a  ghost,  or  as  if  you  took  me  for  a  necromancer 
armed  with  some  diabolic  powers.  You  might  just  as 
well  take  me  for  a  necromancer  if  I  put  you  to  sleep 
with  chloral.  That  woman,  who  is  very  easily  hypno- 
tized, was,  when  she  came  into  the  room,  quite  unable 
to  see  you,  because  I  told  her  that  she  would  see  in  it 
nobody  but  three  gentlemen;  but  she  saw  that  flower 
of  yours,  because  I  told  her  that  she  would  see  a  rose, 
and  that  when  she  saw  it  she  was  to  take  it.  Do  you 
think  that  miraculous,  or  even  what  you  would  call  un- 

182 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

canny?  My  dear  lady,  consider.  You  don't  see  one- 
half  of  the  things  that  are  in  this  room  yourself.  And 
why  don't  you  see  them  ?  Simply  because  you  don't  at- 
tend to  them.  The  hypnotist,  by  means  of  suggestion, 
is  able  to  produce  an  artificial  and  intensified  inatten- 
tion to  certain  things  which  he  specifies.  But  it  doesn't 
always  require  hypnotism  to  do  even  as  much  as  this. 
Once  or  twice,  when  I've  had  the  privilege  of  walking 
with  you  in  Hyde  Park,  I've  noticed  that  a  number  of 
ladies  were  totally  invisible  to  yourself.  I  know  a  lady, 
indeed,  whose  very  beautiful  cousin,  with  peculiar  au- 
burn hair,  was  never  seen  by  her  for  years,  though  she 
stood  five  feet  ten  in  her  stockings,  for  the  simple  reason 
that  she  had  appropriated  this  lady's  admirer." 

"Oh,"  said  Lady  Conway,  incautiously,  "you  call  her 
beautiful,  do  you?  Dr.  Gustav,  you're  a  fool.  You're 
getting  tiresome,  and  I'm  going  to  say  good-night." 

"Instead  of  that,"  said  Lord  Cotswold,  "come  back 
into  more  comfortable  quarters.  We  still  have  my 
party  to  talk  about." 

"And  I,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  when  they  found 
themselves  again  in  the  drawing-room,  "will  try  to  put 
her  into  a  more  comfortable  frame  of  mind.  You've  just 
seen  some  things,"  he  continued,  "which  to  your  think- 
ing are  odd.  Well,  it's  odd  that  a  drunkard  sees  snakes 
in  his  boots;  it's  odd  that  a  knock  on  the  head  makes 
a  man  see  stars.  The  things  which  you've  just  seen 
are  only  more  odd  than  these  because  they  illustrate 
facts  which  have  never,  till  lately,  been  reduced  to  a 
system." 

"I  don't,"  said  Lady  Conway,  "like  your  experiments 
one  little  bit.  You  were  much  nicer  when  you  were 
putting  us  together  instead  of  taking  us  to  pieces.  And 
now  let  us  come  to  our  senses  and  talk  about  Lord 
Cotswold's  party.  He  must  have  it  on  Monday  or 
Tuesday,  for  on  Wednesday  I'm  going  back  to  Lon- 
don." 

"Well,"  said  Lord  Cotswold,  "we  will  see  if  we  can 
183 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

manage  Monday.  On  Sunday,  if  the  hour  is  not  ruin- 
ous to  digestion,  Dr.  Gustav  and  I  are  going  to  hear 
Mr.  Barton  preach.  I  saw  it  announced  in  one  of  the 
Southquay  papers  that  he  is  going  to  deliver  the  first 
of  a  series  of  sermons  on  confirmation." 


CHAPTER  X 

SUNDAY  morning  came,  and  the  air  was  full  again 
of  the  sound  of  distant  bells,  which  stole  through 
the  draperies  of  Miss  Vivian's  half-open  window.  Yes- 
terday afternoon,  till  the  latest  possible  moment,  she 
had  waited  for  the  sound  of  a  door-bell  which  might  have 
announced  Sir  Rawlin's  coming.  But  she  waited  in 
vain.  Sir  Rawlin,  to  say  the  truth,  had  begun  at  the 
lecture  to  resent  Lady  Conway's  interference.  Her  ad- 
vice, as  she  gave  it,  though  he  realized  its  substantial 
wisdom,  was,  so  he  felt,  developing  into  a  foolish  joke; 
and  he  resolved  that,  by  avoiding  Cliff's  End  for  a  day 
or  two,  he  would  deprive  her  of  all  excuse  for  repro- 
ducing it. 

Exhausted  by  disappointment,  Miss  Vivian  had  risen 
late  and  had  given  up  all  idea  of  being  present  at  morn- 
ing service.  Nothing  relieved  her  depression  but  a  short 
letter  from  Mr.  Barton.  Mr.  Barton,  at  all  events,  was 
faithful,  and  did  not  forget  her.  He  wrote: 

"  I  could  not  express  in  your  aunt's  drawing-room  what  I 
wanted  to  say  to  you  about  the  relation  between  soul  and  body. 
Men  like  Dr.  Thistlewood  are  right  in  attributing  to  it  a  pro- 
found importance,  but  men  like  him  put  matters  upside  down. 
The  body  is  to  the  soul  what  the  piano  is  to  the  pianist.  If 
the  piano  becomes  untuned,  the  best  musician  can  play  nothing 
but  discords.  If  the  strings  become  quite  relaxed,  he  can  play 
nothing  at  all.  The  musician,  so  far  as  he  can,  must  keep  his 
own  instrument  in  order;  and  if  God  should  allow  it  to  be  dis- 
ordered through  no  fault  of  ours,  then,  in  extreme  cases,  we  are 
mad;  but  we  still  are  in  God's  hands,  and  the  soul  itself  is  un- 
touched— just  as  a  great  pianist  would  be  a  great  pianist  still, 
though  the  only  instrument  within  his  reach  were  deprived  of 

185 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

its  keys  or  strings.  I  preach  to-morrow  evening  my  first  con- 
firmation sermon.  I  shall  have  these  matters  in  view.  I  trust 
that  you  will  be  there,  and  I  do  so  for  the  special  reason  that 
my  next  private  talk  with  you  may  have  to  be  put  off.  for  a 
little.  In  a  group  of  poor  cottages  between  the  Turkish  Castle 
and  the  golf-course  there  has  been  an  outbreak  of  some  illness. 
The  doctor  is  not  yet  certain  about  it,  but  if  it  spreads  and  proves 
to  be  serious  I  may  be  occupied  in  ministering  to  the  sick.  So 
the  needs  of  the  body  meet  us,  you  see,  everywhere." 


As  she  sat  before  the  looking-glass,  while  her  maid 
put  the  last  touches  to  her  toilet,  the  expression  of  her 
own  face  reminded  her  of  an  over-intimate  diary  which 
her  pride  forbade  her  to  expose  to  the  scrutiny  of  other 
people.  Suddenly  she  made  an  effort.  She  asked  for 
her  newest  hat,  with  its  broad  brim  and  its  curving  wave 
of  feathers,  committed  her  hands  carefully  to  a  delicate 
pair  of  gloves,  and  set  out  to  meet  her  family,  who  by 
this  time  would  be  coming  back  from  church.  The 
slight  frou-frou  of  her  skirts,  in  some  incongruous  way, 
joined  itself  in  the  business  of  sustaining  her  to  her  con- 
sciousness of  Mr.  Barton's  sympathy;  and  before  she 
discerned  the  eminently  Sunday-like  figures  of  her  aunt 
and  Mr.  Carlton  advancing  slowly  across  a  field  she  was 
ready  to  meet  them  with  an  almost  elaborate  gayety. 

In  a  correct  and  Sunday-like  fashion  Mr.  Carlton  was 
gay  himself.  "My  dear  Nest,"  he  said,  "such  music  in 
church — such  positively  divine  music!  But  if  you  were 
tired  you  were  quite  right  not  to  come.  Well,  you're 
rested  now.  Look  at  her.  She's  as  fresh  as  paint." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Miss  Vivian.  "The  paint  is  only 
just  put  on." 

"Naughty!"  said  Mr.  Carlton,  as  he  raised  a  reprov- 
ing finger.  "  But  listen — we've  got  some  news  for  you. 
While  you  were  having  your  beauty-sleep  a  letter  came 
to  Susie  from  Lord  Cotswold,  asking  us  all  to  go  to  an 
impromptu  party  to-morrow  night  as  ever  is.  Mr.  Bar- 
ton, whom  we  saw  just  for  a  moment  —  he  has  been 
asked  also  —  specially  asked  to  give  us  some  sacred 

186 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

music.  And  you,  Miss  Minx — you,  too,  have  your  part 
cut  out  for  you.  Mr.  Barton  inquired  about  that,  and 
said  that,  as  the  party  was  small,  he  would  go  and  play 
your  accompaniments." 

To  the  girl  this  news  came  as  a  fresh  stimulus,  and, 
as  often  happens  when  spirits  are  artificial,  her  task  was 
now  to  restrain  rather  than  to  maintain  hers.  She  was 
even  able  that  afternoon  in  the  school-room  to  indulge 
gallantly  in  a  laughing  encounter  with  Mr.  Hugo,  who, 
having  suppressed  himself  somewhat  in  the  chastening 
presence  of  his  aunt,  now  indulged  in  a  postponed  ex- 
hibition of  high  and  majestic  seriousness.  With  a  fur- 
rowed brow,  as  though  the  fate  of  nations  depended  on 
him,  he  was  examining  some  tweezers  which  formed 
part  of  his  scientific  appliances. 

"Well,  Mr.  Hugo,"  said  Miss  Vivian,  "tell  us  about 
your  last  night's  adventures." 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Arundel.  "  Did  they  give  you  some 
nice  dessert?" 

Mr.  Hugo,  without  looking  at  them,  smiled  a  superior 
smile.  "Dr.  Thistlewood  and  I,"  he  said,  "were  trying 
a  few  experiments."  Here  dropping  his  tweezers  and 
making  a  portentous  grimace,  he  succeeded  in  affixing  to 
one  of  his  eyes  a  magnifying-glass  of  the  kind  used  by 
watch-makers.  He  took  his  bottle  from  a  shelf  and 
examined  its  contents  critically.  "Ah,"  he  said,  "it  is 
just  as  I  knew  it  would  be.  Several  nuclei  have  formed 
themselves  and  are  visible  already.  Dr.  Thistlewood 
was  much  interested  when  I  told  him  of  the  nature  of 
my  work." 

"And  when,"  said  Miss  Vivian,  "is  a  little  Mr.  Hugo 
going  to  pop  out  of  the  top  of  your  bottle?" 

"Nest,"  said  Mr.  Hugo,  advancing,  "do  you  at  all 
know  how  you  are  made  up  yourself?  I'll  show  you  by 
a  drawing.  Look — this  is  a  portrait  of  one  of  your  an- 
cestors. He  is  called  Microgamia  Socialis,  and  he  is 
simply  an  organic  association  of  so  many  separate  lives. 
That's  how  you  are  made  up,  and  I  just  as  much  as  you. 
13  187 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

You  are  you  and  I  am  I  and  Nina  is  Nina  merely  be- 
cause these  lives — these  little  things  like  bugs — are  tied 
together  in  each  of  us  in  rather  different  ways.  And," 
Mr.  Hugo  proceeded,  "by  the  methods  of  hypnosis,  by 
the  production  of  the  somnambulistic  state,  and  stimu- 
lative or  inhibitive  suggestion,  one  qualified  person  can 
untie  these  lives  in  another  person,  and  tie  them  in  a 
new  knot,  so  that  the  person  becomes  quite  different, 
and  then  one  puts  him  all  back  again.  I  incline  to  be- 
lieve that,  when  I  was  operating  last  night  with  Dr. 
Thistlewood,  I  must  have  put  Lady  Conway  uninten- 
tionally into  a  rather  peculiar  psychopathic  state,  for 
she  told  us  all,  quite  out,  that  she  was  very  much  in 
love  with  Oswald." 

"What!"  ejaculated  Oswald,  blushing  with  indignant 
delight.  "  What's  that  nonsense  ?  If  Lady  Conway  had 
said  such  a  thing,  which  of  course  she  didn't,  a  true  man 
of  the  world  would  never  think  of  repeating  what  a 
woman  let  fall  by  accident.  You  baby,  Hugo!" 

Mr.  Hugo,  who  had  intended,  when  he  spoke,  to  im- 
press his  brother  by  the  important  nature  of  his  com- 
munication, now  shifted  his  ground  with  considerable 
mental  agility. 

"  When  the  normal  interaction  of  the  cerebral  centres 
is  perturbed,"  he  said,  "the  patient  often  utters  the  re- 
verse of  what  he  or  she  feels.  It  was  the  absurdity  of 
the  statement,  my  dear  Oswald,  not  the  possible  truth 
of  it,  which  induced  me  to  quote  it  as  a  sign  that  Lady 
Conway 's  condition  was  abnormal." 

He  might  have  said  more  had  it  not  been  for  the  con- 
duct of  Miss  Vivian,  who  here  burst  into  a  fit  of  uncon- 
trolled laughter. 

"Hugo,"  she  said,  "please  go  on.  Give  us  a  little 
more.  You  and  your  brain-centres  are  really  too  de- 
lightful Who  else  is  Lady  Conway  in  love  with?  She 
was  very  parsimonious  if  she  only  mentioned  Oswald." 

Mr.  Hugo  raised  his  eyebrows  till  they  almost  touched 
his  hair,  and  moved  disdainfully  toward  the  door. 

188 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

"One  might,"  he  said,  as  he  opened  it,  "be  almost 
tempted  to  think,  when  one  hears  you  laugh  like  that, 
that  you,  Nest,  were  the  victim  of  some  cerebral  in- 
stability yourself,  and  that  the  cells,  the  neurons,  or  the 
ganglia  of  common-sense  had  disappeared  from  the  area 
of  your  consciousness." 

Mr.  Barton,  meanwhile,  was  at  the  same  hour  giving 
to  his  evening  sermon  a  careful  and  last  revision.  One 
of  Miss  Vivian's  utterances  had  constantly  kept  recurring 
to  him:  "Whether  I  shall  save  my  soul  or  no,  neither 
you  can  tell  nor  I."  He  also  remembered  her  gently 
mocking  question:  "  Has  the  honor  of  Lady  Conway's 
kiss  any  tendency  to  unfit  me  for  confirmation?"  There 
seemed  to  him  in  these  words  to  be  a  sort  of  tragic 
flippancy,  like  that  of  a  child  straying  along  the  brink 
of  a  precipice;  and  he  was  conscious,  as  he  thought  of 
her,  of  a  quasi-maternal  longing  to  throw  his  arms 
about  her  and  drag  her  back  into  safety.  But  though 
she  was  the  focus  of  his  solicitude,  his  solicitude  went 
far  beyond  her.  For  him  she  became  the  image  of  all 
youth,  and  in  the  vaguely  insidious  influences  which 
seemed  to  be  now  surrounding  her  he  saw  the  image  of 
all  temptations.  The  chief  of  these  temptations  for  him 
were  not  those  of  the  flesh.  They  were  those,  far  more 
subtle,  of  a  mental  tone  and  temper,  which,  seducing  the 
soul  into  moral  and  spiritual  indifference,  left  it  a  prey  to 
temptations  of  all  other  kinds.  Such  influences,  old  as 
the  world  itself,  had  never,  he  felt,  taken  a  more  malig- 
nant form  than  that  of  the  semi-materialistic  cant  which, 
even  when,  as  in  Dr.  Thistlewood's  case,  it  shrank  from 
the  absurdity  of  denying  that  the  soul  existed,  reduced 
its  responsibility  to  a  mere  vanishing  -  point  by  main- 
taining that  most  of  its  behavior  was  determined  for  it 
by  the  idiosyncrasies  of  its  mortal  body.  Such  was  the 
tenor  of  his  reflections ;  and  when  he  dwelt  as  a  philos- 
opher on  the  merely  intellectual  crudity  which  betrayed 
itself  in  so  many  phrases  in  Dr.  Thistlewood's  lecture, 
and  still  more  plainly  perhaps  in  the  naive  arrogance  of 

189 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

his  conversation,  he  felt  equally  able  to  encounter  and 
overbear  him  from  the  pulpit  and  at  Lord  Cotswold's 
party. 

That  evening  the  church  was  crowded,  the  congrega- 
tion comprising  an  unusual  number  of  men.  Miss  Viv- 
ian's overstrained  spirits,  when  she  had  done  with  her 
cousins,  had  deserted  her.  Mr.  Hugo's  science  and  Os- 
wald's boyish  romance  became  like  a  comedy  which 
had  wholly  lost  its  savor,  and,  coming  back  again  sad- 
ly to  the  realities  of  her  own  condition,  she  had  looked 
forward,  with  a  sense  at  once  of  rest  and  excitement,  to 
the  sound  of  Mr.  Barton's  voice.  To  her  it  seemed,  when 
she  entered  the  sacred  building,  that  the  whole  congre- 
gation was  pervaded  by  an  expectation  similar  to  her 
own. 

Before  the  service  began  the  whole  church  was  in  half 
obscurity,  through  which  the  voice  of  the  organ  throbbed. 
Then  the  chancel  grew  starry,  as  though  its  lights  were 
seen  through  tears;  and  among  its  lights  came  a  flicker 
of  the  white,  advancing  choir,  followed  by  the  stoled 
priests.  The  notes  of  the  voluntary  died  away  and 
ended,  and,  the  nave  and  aisles  being  not  yet  fully 
illuminated,  a  hymn  was  sung  in  which  the  choir  alone 
joined.  The  sound,  almost  unearthly,  performed  the 
office  of  an  incantation,  calling  all  that  was  spiritual 
from  the  depths  of  the  human  heart,  filling  the  air  with 
contrition  and  giving  to  abjection  wings.  The  same  ef- 
fect was  maintained  till,  the  liturgy  having  been  brought 
to  a  close,  the  nave  was  again  darkened.  Then  two 
lights,  unlit  before,  were  seen  shining  at  a  certain 
elevation  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  chancel  arch. 
These  were  the  lights  of  the  pulpit,  and  presently  they 
were  illuminating  a  face  which  the  mystical  and  clair- 
voyant eyes  could  not  save  from  being  stern  and  but 
just  saved  from  being  threatening. 

"What  shall  a  man  give  in  exchange  for  his  soul?" 
This  was  Mr.  Barton's  text,  which  thrilled  through  the 
tense  silence.  He  was,  he  said,  going  to  address  himself 

190 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

more  directly  to  those  younger  members  of  his  congrega- 
tion who,  before  long,  were  to  be  confirmed.  But  the 
truth  he  was  about  to  insist  upon  did  not  concern  the 
young  only.  It  was  equally  vital  to  every  man  and 
woman  who  heard  him.  The  object  of  confirmation, 
just  like  that  of  the  Lord's  Supper,  was  to  convey  to  the 
recipient,  from  a  source  outside  himself,  some  strength 
which  would  enable  him  to  realize  the  one  true  end  of  his 
existence.  Of  the  particular  kind  of  strength  given  to 
the  recipient  by  confirmation  it  would  be  his  duty  to 
speak  hereafter.  This  evening  he  would  invite  them 
only  to  consider  the  more  general  question  of  why  any 
such  gift  of  extraneous  strength  was  important  to  us. 

"  We  are  all  of  us  human  beings,"  he  said,  "  before  we 
become  Christians.  Let  us  ask  ourselves,  therefore,  what 
this  nature  of  ours,  common  to  us  as  human  beings,  is, 
to  which  the  Church  offers  her  sacraments  and  which 
gives  those  sacraments  their  meaning."  In  our  present 
state  of  existence  we  were,  he  said,  composite  creatures 
made  up  of  soul  and  body.  He  would  deal  with  the 
body  first.  That  in  itself  was  a  composite  thing  also. 
We  each  of  us  bore  witness  to  this  fact  every  moment 
in  speaking,  as  we  are  obliged  to  do,  of  the  different 
bodily  parts  of  us — my  hands,  my  arms,  my  legs,  my 
feet,  and  so  forth.  The  body  was  composite,  not  only 
in  the  sense  that  we  could  separate  its  parts  in  thought, 
but  also  in  the  sense  that  some  of  its  parts  could  be 
amputated  without  destroying  it,  while  if  other  parts 
ceased  to  operate  the  whole  would  be  destroyed  and  lost. 
In  what,  then,  so  far  as  any  one  of  us  was  concerned, 
did  the  practical  unity  of  the  living  body  consist  ?  There 
was  no  one  part,  even  among  those  commonly  called 
vital,  in  which  any  one  could  for  a  moment  maintain 
that  the  living  unity  centred  itself.  The  heart,  for  exam- 
ple, would  be  lifeless  without  the  head,  the  head  with- 
out the  heart.  The  human  unity  of  all  these  various 
parts  consisted  in  their  common  relation  to  a  single  living 
self.  This  arm,  this  foot,  this  tongue — each  belongs  to 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

me,  because  to  me,  who  am  separate  from  each  of  them, 
they  all  severally  minister.  "I  am,"  said  Mr.  Barton, 
"merely  repeating  here  the  truth  with  which  the  child 
starts  and  with  which  the  philosopher  ends.  And  now," 
he  continued,  his  voice  slightly  rising,  "  let  us  turn  from 
this  body,  which  is  mine,  to  the  self — or  let  us  say  the 
soul — which  is  me." 

As  soon  as  we  did  this,  he  said,  we  were  confronted  by 
a  momentous  contrast,  which  only  failed  to  overwhelm 
us  because  it  was  so  self-evident  and  familiar.  The 
body  could  be  divided  into  its  component  parts  by 
thought;  everybody  was  ultimately  so  divided,  in  fact. 
But  the  soul — the  self — was,  even  in  thought,  indivisible. 
"To-day,"  he  said,  "  I  may  have  two  eyes.  To-morrow 
I  may  have  plucked  out  one.  I  may  seek  God  to-day. 
To-morrow  I  may  have  turned  away  from  Him.  Every- 
thing in  me  may  change — everything  but  I  myself.  It 
is  the  same  I — the  same  enduring  centre,  that  loves, 
suffers,  sins,  prays,  is  blind,  sees.  And  this  I,  this  self, 
this  soul,  being  thus  simple  and  indivisible,  is  for  that 
reason,  in  its  very  nature,  indestructible.  It  would  be 
out  of  place  here  to  quote  to  you  the  supreme  thinkers, 
from  Plato  to  Descartes,  who  have  been  awe-stricken  by 
this  fundamental  truth.  I  will  only  say,  adding  my 
voice  to  theirs,  '  Show  me  the  man  who  can  think  the 
annihilation  of  self,  and  I  will  hail  him  as  a  new  Om- 
nipotence who  could  create  all  the  stars  of  heaven.'  We 
did  not  ask  to  be,  but,  having  once  been,  we  can  never 
again  not  be — even  though  the  mountains  should  fall  on 
us  and  the  sea  vainly  cover  us. 

"  We  may  well,  each  of  us,  say,"  he  continued,  after  a 
long  pause:  "  '  What  a  fearful  thing  the  existence  of  my- 
self is!'  Among  the  weary  toils  and  troubles  that  come 
upon  us  every  day  we  find  comfort  in  the  thought  of  our 
pillows,  with  their  gift  of  soft  forgetfulness,  or  in  the 
peace  of  resignation  which  will  be  ours  on  abandoning 
some  hopeless  struggle.  But,  in  the  deeper  sense  of  the 
words,  we  shall  rest  from  ourselves — never.  Self  lies 

192 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

upon  self  like  an  ever-living  coal  of  fire.  It  is,  indeed,  an 
overwhelming  thing  to  think  that  I  shall  be  I  always — 
that  I  can  never  divide  myself  from  myself.  And," 
Mr.  Barton  continued,  "the  matter  does  not  end  here." 
The  self,  he  said,  must  not  only  remain  what  it  is  through 
an  eternity  of  present  moments,  but  it  drags  its  past 
after  it,  like  a  trail  from  which  it  never  can  free  itself, 
and  its  past  is  being  fulfilled  forever  in  the  qualities  of 
its  eternal  present.  Yes,  he  said,  but  even  now  we  had 
not  the  whole  case  before  us.  Besides  being  burdened 
with  the  past  which  we  call  our  own,  we  were  burdened 
also  with  that  of  our  first  ancestor.  We  all  of  us,  like  him, 
were  born  desiring  peace.  We  all  of  us,  through  his  per- 
verse weakness,  had  lost  the  power  of  gaining  it.  Thus  the 
natural  man  unaided  was,  in  the  very  fact  of  being  a  man, 
his  own  house  of  torment  from  which  there  was  no  escape. 
Here,  Mr.  Barton  went  on,  we  had  the  general  ex- 
planation of  what  the  sacrament  of  confirmation  did  for 
us.  It  miraculously  resuscitated  in  us  certain  powers 
which  had  been  lost.  Of  all  this  he  would  speak  more 
explicitly  in  future  sermons.  He  would  confine  him- 
self now  to  a  fundamental  question  which  underlay  it — 
namely,  what  in  their  essence  these  powers,  which  re- 
quired resuscitation,  were.  They  might  be  described  very 
shortly.  They  were  the  powers  essential  to  the  integrity 
of  the  moral  character,  and  Christ  made  good  the  loss 
which  the  first  Adam  has  transmitted  to  us  by  giving 
us,  as  the  second  Adam,  this  lost  character  back  again, 
providing  us  with  a  model  for  our  imitation  and  His 
continual  aid  in  imitating  it.  All  the  sacraments  of  the 
Church  had  for  their  ultimate  object  the  production  of 
the  Christ-like  character.  "Or,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  "to 
bring  the  matter  to  a  finer  point — and  this  is  the  point 
to  which  all  along  I  have  been  leading  you — their  object 
is  so  to  redeem  and  revivify  the  human  will,  which  is  the 
master  of  the  intellect  and  the  affections,  that  it  shall 
operate  in  accordance  with  the  will  of  the  Divine  Man, 
our  Saviour.  It  is  only  through  the  exercise  of  the  will, 

193 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

thus  mercifully  revivified,  that  you  and  I  can  render  our 
own  external  existence  not  a  terror  or  a  burden  to  us, 
but  a  blessedness — a  blessedness  which,  though  passing 
our  understandings,  is  divined  dimly  by  each  of  us.  '  The 
Spirit  and  the  Bride  say,  Come ;  and  let  him  that  heareth 
say,  Come;  and  let  him  that  is  athirst  come.'  Well," 
exclaimed  the  preacher,  "might  a  great  poet,  who  was 
also  a  great  thinker,  say  that  this  human  will  of  ours  is 
the  main  miracle  of  existence — 

"  '  The  living  will  which  shall  endure 

When  all  that  seems  shall  suffer  shock,' 

and  endure  with  you  and  with  me,  for  weal  or  woe,  eter- 
nally. 

"Perhaps  I  shall  be  told,"  he  went  on,  "for  the  spirit 
of  science  is  abroad,  that  I  am  here  encroaching  on  a 
science  that  is  called  psychology,  this  being  a  study  of 
the  body  through  whose  mechanism  the  soul  here  oper- 
ates, and  I  shall  be  challenged  to  explain  how  we  Chris- 
tians acquire  any  right  to  speak  about  it.  Christ,  so  far 
as  we  know,  delivered  no  scientific  lectures;  but  all  the 
psychology,  whether  new  or  old,  which  concerns  men 
practically,  in  relation  either  to  soul  or  body,  is  to  be 
found  in  Christ's  teaching.  First,  as  to  the  body,  and 
a  very  few  words  will  be  enough.  If  any  one  thinks  that 
Christ,  teaching  us  through  the  Church,  treats  the  body 
with  too  much  contempt,  he  need  but  consider  the  fol- 
lowing familiar  facts.  It  was  through  the  medium  of 
the  body  that  the  redemption  of  the  world  was  accom- 
plished. The  human  body  is  the  medium  of  the  great 
sacramental  mysteries.  By  the  touch  of  water  on  our 
foreheads  we  become  members  of  Christ.  Through  our 
bodily  mouths  He  comes  to  us  in  the  holy  eucharist. 
Our  bodies  play  their  parts  in  the  great  mystery  of  mar- 
riage. The  powers  and  graces  conferred  by  confirma- 
tion and  ordination  come  to  us  from  God  through  the 
impact  of  a  bishop's  hands.  Ordination,  baptism,  and 
confirmation  we  shall  here  find  specially  significant,  for 

194 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

these  sacraments  can  be  administered  once  only  to  each 
of  us.  The  tissues  of  the  body  are  in  a  state  of  constant 
change,  and  yet  their  virtue  is  such  that  they  are  the 
vehicle  of  gifts  or  faculties  so  absolutely  enduring  that  it 
is  no  more  possible  to  bestow  them  a  second  time  than  it 
would  be  to  cut  a  man's  head  off  if  it  were  cut  off  already. 
"  Such,  then,  is  the  implicit  importance  which  Chris- 
tian psychology  assigns  to  the  human  body.  What  is  it 
that  it  teaches  us  about  the  soul?  What  it  teaches  I 
have  set  forth  already.  If  the  soul — the  self — were  not 
an  indestructible  entity  Christ's  work  would  be  mean- 
ingless. It  would  be  equally  meaningless  if  this  self 
were  not  master  of  its  own  actions.  Therefore,  the  in- 
destructibility and  the  responsibility  of  the  self  are  im- 
plicitly the  fundamental  doctrines  of  the  psychology  of 
the  Christian  Church;  and  if  we  are  asked  for  the  au- 
thority which  the  Church  has  for  teaching  them  we 
need  not  appeal,  though  we  might  do  so,  to  the  voice  of 
supernatural  revelation.  We  have  two  other  witnesses, 
purely  human,  which  corroborate,  and  indeed  anticipate, 
the  voice  of  God.  To  one  of  these  I  have  referred  al- 
ready. I  mean  the  voice  of  the  human  intellect  speak- 
ing through  the  world's  great  thinkers.  But  the  great 
thinkers  are  few.  There  is  a  greater  witness  behind 
them,  and  this  is  the  corporate  voice  of  the  human  race 
at  large.  What  Christ  spoke  to  was  a  will  mysteriously 
its  own  master;  but  had  men  not  known  in  themselves 
that  such  a  will  existed  He  would  have  spoken  to  deaf 
ears.  As  it  is,  the  whole  heart  of  the  human  race  re- 
sponds to  Him,  and  the  divine  implication  of  His  mes- 
sage is  repeated  by  the  Church  daily,  from  all  her  thou- 
sand confessionals,  whether  at  the  bedside  or  elsewhere. 
What  is  the  universal  language  in  which  the  penitent 
Christian  confesses?  I  have  sinned — and  why  have  I 
sinned?  Through  my  fault,  through  my  own  fault, 
through  my  own  most  grievous  fault.  I  was  master  of 
myself,  but  my  mastery  has  been  used  amiss  by  me; 
and  through  my  own  solitary  fault,  and  through  nothing 

195 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

outside  myself,  have  I  wounded  Him  that  died  for  me. 
In  every  broken,  in  every  contrite  heart — in  all  the  un- 
numbered prayers  uttered  in  sad  chambers  by  men  to 
whom  God  has  given  the  gift  of  tears — in  all  spiritual 
sorrow — this  same  implication  lives  more  vitally  than 
in  all  philosophies. 

"Oh,  eternal  spirits  to  whom  I  speak,  the  bodies 
through  which  I  know  your  presence,  and  through  which 
you  know  mine — they  are  our  instruments  in  this  passing 
life ;  sometimes,  alas !  they  are  our  impediments ;  some- 
times God  makes  lutes  of  them,  which  sound  with  the 
very  music  of  the  heavens.  Study  them  if  you  will. 
Be  duly  careful  of  their  health.  But  you  will  learn  no 
more  about  the  soul  from  an  examination  of  their  nerves 
and  tissues  than  you  would  learn  about  the  quality  of 
a  wine  by  examining  the  glass  that  held  it.  Yes,  study 
the  complexities  of  the  corruptible  body,  if  this  interests 
you,  but  do  not  forget  that,  when  you  confront  the 
destiny  which  your  wills,  acting  through  the  corruptible 
body,  shall  have  prepared  for  you,  the  body  will  have 
passed  away,  and  your  wills  and  the  results  of  your  use 
of  them — these  two  last  things — will  be  alone  and  naked 
before  your  God.  Christ,  using  our  bodies  as  the  mys- 
terious vehicles  of  His  sacraments,  will  strengthen  these 
wills  if  we  apply  to  Him ;  but  even  so — let  us  remember 
this — our  wills  remain  our  own." 

The  sermon  ended  abruptly,  and  was  followed  by  the 
announcement  of  a  hymn  which  was  not  in  the  hymnal, 
but  copies  of  which  were  now  distributed  by  attendants 
throughout  the  church.  The  result  of  this  unusual  pro- 
ceeding was  that,  as  at  the  opening  of  the  service,  the 
congregation  were  mostly  silent  and  the  choir  alone  was 
audible.  The  hymn,  which  was  as  follows,  bore  the 
title,  "Each  Soul  to  its  God": 

"  Lord  of  light  and  might, 
Lord,  in  star  and  star 
Only  three  things  are 
Living  in  Thy  sight. 
196 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

"  Thou,  the  Sun,  art  one, 
Life  of  earth  and  sky, 
One,  my  God,  am  I, 
Lost,  alone,  undone. 

"  Like  me,  of  the  three 

One,  my  God,  are  they — 
Other  souls  who  stray 
Lost  and  alone  like  me. 

"  Lord,  when  place  and  space 
Are  not,  and  the  skies 
Hold  no  worlds,  and  eyes 
Cease  to  obscure  Thy  face; 

"  When  earth's  sun  foredone, 
Like  an  ended  thought 
Ends,  and  all  is  naught, 
May  these  three  be  one." 


CHAPTER  XI 

^ear  Nest,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Carlton  the  following 
night,  as  Miss  Vivian,  arrayed  for  Lord  Cotswold's 
party,  entered  the  drawing-room,  where  he  was  sitting 
alone  before  dinner,  "come  here  and  let  me  look  at  you. 
Let  me  feel  that  stuff — all  gray  clouds  and  silver.  What 
do  you  call  it?  Smoke-color?  And  the  violets  —  ah, 
how  sweet!  And  the  shoes — put  out  the  little  shoes. 
And  now  the  feather  fan  and  the  gloves — all  of  the  same 
shade.  You  impertinent  little  wretch — how  naughty  of 
you!  Do  you  want  to  break  every  one  of  our  poor 
hearts?  But,  my  dear,  turn  round  to  the  light.  I  don't 
quite  approve  of  those  purple  streaks  under  your  eyes. 
Little  girls  like  you  must  be  careful  not  to  overdo  them- 
selves. You've  the  dress  of  a  French  coquette,  but 
you've  the  eyes  of  a  little,  tired-out  saint.  But  cheer 
up.  You  needn't  look  in  the  glass.  All  this  merely 
makes  you  doubly  dangerous." 

The  party  was  to  begin  at  ten  o'clock.  Lady  Conway 
and  Sir  Rawlin  had  dined  at  the  Turkish  Castle,  and 
dinner,  which  was  somewhat  late,  was  but  just  drawing 
to  its  conclusion  when  a  series  of  chimes  proclaimed  that 
the  appointed  hour  was  on  them. 

Lord  Cotswold  had  explained  that  he  had  got  together 
about  forty  guests,  some  of  them  being  Indian  or  Colo- 
nial officials  and  their  wives,  now  domiciled  at  South- 
quay,  who  years  ago  had  been  hospitable  to  him  in  the 
course  of  his  many  travels,  and  of  whom — of  the  wives 
especially — he  entertained  grateful  recollections.  Others 
were  local  residents  who  possessed  political  influence,  or 
who  were,  like  old  Mrs.  Summerfield,  retired  veterans  of 

198 


the  world.  Mr.  Barton,  who,  it  was  hoped,  would  be  the 
musical  hero  of  the  evening,  was  to  be  kept  in  counte- 
nance by  the  performances  of  a  small  string-band ;  and 
an  entertainment  which  might  possibly  be  even  more 
popular  than  the  music — that  is  to  say,  an  exhibition 
of  moving  photographs — was  to  take  place  in  Dr.  This- 
tlewood's  big,  bare  room,  Mr.  Hugo  having  been  invited 
to  assist,  or,  at  all  events,  to  patronize  the  operator. 

"Well,"  said  Lord  Cotswold,  when  the  clock's  last 
notes  had  sounded,  "Rawlin,  Dr.  Gustav,  and  I  must 
have  our  cigars  later.  The  music  will  be  in  the  room 
that  opens  into  the  conservatory.  We  can  smoke  and 
be  warm  under  a  palm-tree  while  our  clergyman  dis- 
courses music." 

The  arrivals  soon  began,  and  the  string-band  in  the 
music-room  struck  up  punctually  at  the  first  peal  of 
the  door-bell.  The  company  were  easy  to  entertain,  as 
the  larger  part  of  them  knew  one  another;  and  the  in- 
spection of  a  singular  house,  which  had  hitherto  been  a 
local  mystery,  was  enough  to  keep  them,  as  they  dis- 
persed themselves,  amused,  talking,  and  occupied. 

In  due  time  came  the  party  from  Cliff's  End.  "My 
dear,"  said  Lord  Cotswold  to  Miss  Vivian,  "you  are  the 
moon  clothed  in  clouds.  I  wonder  if  we  can  find  you 
an  Endymion.  We  can  find  you  a  seat,  at  all  events. 
Most  of  my  friends  have  gone  on  into  the  music- 
room." 

The  music-room  was  dimly  lighted  by  a  number  of 
colored  lanterns,  and  the  general  effect  was  pleasing. 
Rumors  that  Mr.  Barton  was  going  to  play  were  in  cir- 
culation, but  he  had  not  yet  arrived;  nor  did  he  do  so 
before  Lord  Cotswold,  in  order  to  make  up  for  his  ab- 
sence, had  given  an  order,  intrusted  to  Mr.  Hugo,  that 
the  moving  photographs  should  be  exhibited  as  a  pre- 
liminary diversion.  Most  of  the  guests  were  trooping 
in  to  the  exhibition  when,  full  of  apologies,  the  defaulter 
greeted  his  host ;  and  failing  in  the  dimness  of  the  music- 
room  to  detect  any  presence  that  appealed  to  him,  he 

199 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

adopted  his  host's  suggestion  that  he  should  follow  the 
disappearing  sight-seers. 

When  the  last  of  this  band  had  gone  Lord  Cotswold 
heaved  a  sigh  of  relief.  As  he  did  so  he  drew  out  a  large 
cigar-case,  and  quietly  passed  through  the  open  window 
into  the  conservatory,  from  the  shadowy  leafage  of  which 
came  the  murmur  of  two  men's  voices.  The  music-room 
had,  however,  been  not  left  entirely  empty.  Miss  Viv- 
ian, when  the  exodus  began,  had  remained  in  a  shaded 
corner ;  and  she  now  discovered  that  she  was  not  wholly 
alone,  but  that  Lady  Conway  was  facing  her,  who  like- 
wise had  not  stirred. 

"Come,"  said  Lady  Conway — "come  and  sit  down  by 
me.  That's  right.  Now  I  can  talk  to  you  comfortably. 
Tell  me,  who  made  your  dress?  When  I  was  your  age 
I  never  had  frocks  like  that.  Oh,  my  dear,  what  a  bore 
— here  comes  the  Church  in  person,  as  cross  as  two 
sticks  at  seeing  you  appropriated  by  the  world!  It's 
you  the  good  man  wants.  You're  one  of  his  pet  lambs, 
I  suppose.  Music  or  no  music,  your  Mr.  Barton  has  a 
very  bad,  nasty  temper.  But  he  sha'n't  interrupt  us. 
Mr.  Barton — for  I'm  sure  it's  you,  even  in  this  dim 
religious  light — now  that  the  band's  in  abeyance,  do 
sit  down  and  play  to  us.  Play  something  soft — play 
anything — just  for  our  two  selves — anything,"  she  added 
to  Miss  Vivian,  "which  will  prevent  his  trying  to  talk 
to  us." 

Mr.  Barton,  who,  after  a  vain  and  anxious  search,  had 
only  found  Miss  Vivian  to  find  her  absorbed  in  a  com- 
panionship which  kept  him  at  a  hopeless  distance,  cer- 
tainly did  exhibit  an  aspect  of  painful  sternness  which 
excused,  if  it  did  not  justify,  Lady  Conway's  comments 
on  his  temper.  Still,  to  play  to  the  girl,  if  he  could  not 
speak  to  her,  would  be  something;  and  his  mastery  of 
music,  which  even  Lady  Conway  recognized,  would  en- 
able him  there  and  then  to  challenge  her  insidious  in- 
fluence. With  a  slight  bow  and  with  a  sufficiently  good 
grace  he  accordingly  seated  himself  at  the  piano,  whose 

200 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

low  and  liquid  vibrations,  as  he  took  some  pleasure  in 
noting,  reduced  this  disdainful  woman  at  once  to  a  lis- 
tening silence.  On  Lady  Conway,  however,  this  effect 
did  not  last  long.  Presently  her  ear  was  penetrated  by 
sounds  of  another  kind — namely,  those  of  a  subdued  con- 
versation proceeding  from  a  group  of  men  who  were 
seated  outside  the  window  on  the  broad  steps  of  the 
conservatory.  A  sudden  flash  in  her  eyes  showed  that 
she  had  divined  its  tenor. 

"Mr.  Barton,"  she  exclaimed,  "don't  stop  playing, 
whatever  you  do.  We  are  only  moving  in  order  to  hear 
better.  My  dear,  do  you  mind  coming  rather  nearer 
the  window?  Hush!  we'll  pull  out  the  curtain.  That 
will  shelter  you  from  the  draught." 

The  voices  of  those  outside  were  now  clearly  audible. 
The  music  filled  the  room  with  its  soft,  dissolving  ca- 
dences; but  Lady  Conway  saw,  as  she  knew  she  would, 
that  her  companion's  ears  heard  nothing  of  it.  "It's 
just  as  well,"  she  said  to  herself,  "that  she  should  real- 
ize what  men  are." 

"Civilized  women  of  the  different  civilized  races,"  Dr. 
Thistlewood  was  saying,  in  quiet,  reflective  tones,  to 
which  the  slightest  trace  of  some  un-English  accent — 
it  might  have  been  French  or  American — lent  a  certain 
elusive  pungency,  "differ  as  much  from  each  other  as 
the  languages  in  which  they  talk,  and  as  little." 

"Rawlin,"  said  Lord  Cotswold,  "do  you  remember 
the  Persian  rose-garden  and  the  trickling  cistern  and 
the  scents  and  the  new  moon  and  our  Brahmin  —  our 
sage  from  afar — who  preached  to  us  on  the  '  Great  Sen- 
tence,' which  means  that,  if  we  would  know  ourselves, 
we  must  know  the  divine  Infinite,  we  being  all  of  us 
modes  or  passing  miniatures  of  it?  Do  you  remember 
that,  and  how  you  half  shocked,  half  puzzled  him  by 
saying,  in  illustration  of  his  doctrine,  that  you,  when 
talking  to  one  attractive  woman,  often  forgot  that  she 
was  not  another,  the  only  change  being  that  she  had 
migrated  to  a  different  house?" 

201 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

"That  seems,"  replied  Sir  Rawlin,  "an  unfeeling  thing 
to  have  said ;  and  yet  what  it  means  is,  in  one  sense,  the 
essence  of  all  religion.  All  the  great  religions  tell  us  to 
love  man  as  man.  This  can  only  mean  that  we  are  to 
love  not  men,  but  manhood,  which  alone  gives  a  similar 
value  to  Harry  and  Tom  and  Dick.  And  if  this  is  true 
about  men  it  is  true  about  women  also.  What  allures 
us  in  each  individual  is  not  a  woman,  but  womanhood. 
It  is  this  that  we  really  seek  for  in  Moll,  in  Meg,  or  in 
Marjory." 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "whether  you 
are  talking  orthodox  religion ;  but  you  are,  at  all  events, 
talking  orthodox  science.  A  man  has  a  passion  for 
roses;  but  his  passion  does  not  lose  its  object  with  the 
death  of  any  single  flower.  As  our  host  here  was  saying 
only  the  other  night,  the  individual  women  men  love 
are  merely  so  many  cups  which  dip  up  for  them  the 
same  mysterious  water;  and  a  similar  thing  is  true  of 
the  driest  scientific  experiment.  Every  experiment  must 
be  made  on  a  particular  specimen  —  whether  of  a  gas, 
of  a  mineral,  of  blood,  or  of  fermenting  beer.  But  we 
value  the  specimen  for  everything  rather  than  for  it- 
self. Each  is  only  a  different  eye-piece  through  which 
we  peer  into  the  same  universe." 

"The  Buddhists  and  the  Brahmins,"  said  Sir  Rawlin, 
"both  preach  the  same  gospel;  and  here  are  we,  with 
our  white  neckties,  repeating  it.  But  I  doubt  if,  when 
it  comes  to  practice,  I  have  quite  the  courage  of  my 
opinions.  If  the  individual  woman  is  nothing  more 
than  the  cup,  still  it  is  the  cup  alone  that  enables  us  to 
drink  the  water;  and  for  each  of  us,  only  one  such  cup 
out  of  every  thousand  will  hold  it.  If  we  find  one  that 
will,  we  should  be  careful  not  to  break  it." 

"That,"  said  Lord  Cotswold,  putting  his  hand  on  Sir 
Rawlin's  shoulder,  "is  what  Dr.  Gustav  does  not  see. 
There  are  some  kinds  of  experiment  which  he  has  never 
himself  tried.  If  he  had  he  would  know  how  life  seems 
to  give  the  lie  to  science.  But  here  are  our  guests  com- 

202 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

ing  back  again,  having  exhausted  the  pleasures  of  pho- 
tography. Finish  your  cigars  if  you  like.  I  shall  have 
to  sacrifice  mine." 

The  three  smokers  rose.  Lord  Cotswold  and  Dr. 
Thistlewood  disappeared  at  once  into  the  music-room, 
where  Mr.  Barton,  still  the  victim  of  circumstance,  be- 
came a  centre  of  entreaties  from  his  host  and  from  a  ring 
of  others  that  he  would  not  leave  the  instrument,  but 
would  give  them  what  they  hoped  to  hear.  He  looked 
around  the  room  for  Miss  Vivian.  He  could  not  see  her ; 
and  perforce  he  resumed  his  playing.  Sir  Rawlin  re- 
mained behind,  standing  just  outside  the  window.  Not 
a  yard  away  from  him,  partially  hidden  by  a  curtain,  a 
figure  stirred  within,  diffusing  a  faint  perfume,  and  pres- 
ently stood  confronting  him.  Miss  Vivian  had  supposed 
him  to  have  passed  in  with  his  companions,  and  was  her- 
self on  the  point  of  seeking  a  seclusion  which  she  took 
for  solitude.  On  seeing  him  she  slightly  started,  and 
made  a  movement  as  though  she  would  turn  away. 

Sir  Rawlin  instinctively  held  out  a  hand  to  check  her; 
and  there  was  something  in  his  eyes  and  manner  which 
she  found  herself  unable  to  resist. 

"What!"  he  said,  speaking  hardly  above  a  whisper. 
"Are  you  going  to  run  away  from  me?  It's  days  since 
I've  seen  you  —  days  since  I've  said  a  word  to  you. 
We  shall  be  able  to  talk  in  here;  or,  if  you'd  rather  listen 
to  the  music,  you  shall  just  sit  by  me  and  be  silent." 

She  seemed  to  hesitate  for  a  moment,  the  color  mount- 
ed to  her  cheeks;  then  she  held  out  her  hand  to  him, 
and  he  led  her  down  the  glimmering  steps. 

"Till  I  saw  you  again,"  he  said,  "I  hardly  knew  how 
I'd  missed  you.  Look,  here  are  two  chairs.  Have  the 
one  with  the  cushions.  That's  right.  Be  comfortable. 
Well,  we  can  talk  at  last." 

"Tell  me,"  she  answered,  "are  you  sure  that  I  don't 
bore  you  ?  If  that's  so,  I'll  say  to  you,  as  I  think  I  must 
have  said  to  you  at  the  ball,  'Don't  talk  to  me  yet.' 
That's  the  last  thing  which  I  remember  saying  to  you 

*4  203 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

then.  Let  me  listen  for  a  little  to  the  music  and  get 
myself  ready  for  a  question  I  want  to  ask  you." 

For  a  full  minute  or  so  they  both  of  them  remained 
silent.  Then  she  turned  to  him,  with  her  face  half  hid- 
den by  her  fan,  and  said,  softly  but  carelessly: 

"Mr.  Barton  plays  well,  doesn't  he?" 

"He  is,"  said  Sir  Rawlin,  "a  man  of  many  accom- 
plishments. Do  you  like  him  ?" 

Above  the  feathers  of  the  smoke-colored  fan  her  eyes 
showed  a  faint  smile. 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  "enormously.  Taken  in  con- 
junction with  a  piano,  Mr.  Barton  is — I  wonder  if  you'd 
understand  if  I  tried  to  explain  myself  by  a  simile." 

"Try  me,"  he  answered.  "Let  me  hear  what  your 
simile  is." 

"  In  conjunction  with  what  I  spoke  of,"  she  continued 
— "  I  mean  a  piano  or  an  organ — Mr.  Barton  is  a  cup 
which  dips  up  very  beautiful  music.  I'm  not  sure  now 
whether  I  won't  keep  my  question  to  myself." 

"  You  must,"  said  Sir  Rawlin,  abruptly,  "  do  so  for  the 
moment,  at  all  events.  Listen.  There  are  people  com- 
ing. Suppose  we  go  somewhere  else.  At  the  far  end  of 
the  conservatory  is  a  smoking-room  in  a  round  tower. 
We  sha'n't  be  interrupted  there." 

The  girl  had  risen  almost  as  quickly  as  he  had;  and 
they  were  soon  making  their  way  along  a  lane  between 
banked  flowers,  while  on  one  side  through  glass,  which 
was  partially  dimmed  by  moisture,  came  the  shinings 
of  the  moon  and  sea.  Lady  Conway,  on  the  evening 
when  she  had  made  her  inspection  of  the  premises,  had 
observed  correctly  that  here  was  a  place  for  lovers. 

"  You  heard,  then,"  said  Sir  Rawlin,  presently,  "  what 
we  were  talking  about  as  we  sat  smoking?" 

"Some  of  it,"  the  girl  replied.  "My  question  has  to 
do  with  that.  Wait  till  I  ask  it.  I'm  not  going  to  ask 
it  yet.  Stand  still  and  look.  Does  this  remind  you  of 
nothing?  It's  like  that  place  at  the  ball,  where  I  lost 
myself  in  that  stupid  dream ;  and  Lady  Conway — do  you 

204 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

remember,  for  I'm  rather  vague  about  it  myself — sud- 
denly came  in  meddling,  as  if  we  were  two  children. 
She's  a  kind  of  woman  who  wants  to  have  everybody  to 
herself.  Good  Heavens,  what  a  startling  eclipse!  That 
didn't  happen  at  the  ball.  One  would  think  that  the 
moon  had  been  blown  out  like  a  candle." 

"That's  odd,"  said  Sir  Rawlin.  "The  night  seemed 
clear  enough.  Let  us  go  to  the  window  in  the  tower. 
There  we  shall  see  better  what's  actually  happening." 

The  door  of  the  tower  was  open,  and  firelight  shone 
within.  Facing  them  was  a  large  window,  giving  access 
to  a  seaward  balcony.  They  stationed  themselves  by  its 
ample  panes,  and  looked  out  on  a  scene  which  charmed 
them  by  its  visionary  wildness.  The  sea  lay  before  them, 
a  moving  floor  of  waters.  The  moon  was  by  this  time 
wholly  lost  to  sight;  and  masses  of  travelling  cloud,  the 
conformations  of  which  were  vaguely  distinguishable,  had 
already  half  covered  the  sky  with  their  slowly  moving, 
noiseless  wings. 

"'If  you  and  I  were  outside  in  the  dimness,"  said  the 
girl,  at  last,  "  I  should  hardly  see  you  as  clearly  as  I  did 
when  you  helped  me  to  steady  myself  in  the  mist.  But 
I  shouldn't  have  to  trouble  you  with  that  kind  of  steady- 
ing now.  Everything  changes — don't  you  think  it  does  ? 
There's  one  question  for  you,  though  it  is  not  the  one  I 
meant." 

"Let  me,"  said  Sir  Rawlin,  "hear  the  one  that  you 
did  mean.  I'll  do  my  best  to  answer  it.  My  inclination 
is  to  say  too  much  to  you  rather  than  too  little." 

"  Come,  then,"  she  said,  taking  him  gently  by  the  coat, 
while  she  looked  at  him  with  a  smile  which  at  first  made 
him  doubt  her  seriousness,  "  tell  me  just  this.  Do  men 
really  think  of  women  as  wineglasses,  which  they  put  to 
their  lips,  drink  from,  and  then  throw  away  behind  them  ? 
Is  that  what  happens?  Is  that  what  men  mean  by 
kisses  ?  I  should  very  much  like  to  know. ' ' 

"My  dear,"  said  Sir  Rawlin,  slowly,  "you  must  never 
let  a  simile  run  away  with  you.  Still,  if  you  keep  to  this 

205 


AN   IMMORTAL  SOUL 

one,  which  was  not  my  own,  but  Dr.  Thistlewood's,  you 
shall  have  my  sincere  answer.  Should  a  man  know 
that,  if  he  drank  from  one  of  these  delicate  vessels,  it 
might,  owing  to  his  nature  or  his  circumstances,  drop 
from  his  hand  afterward,  he  had  better  remain  thirsty 
and  not  drink  at  all.  This  is  a  hard  saying.  One  only 
learns  its  truth  from  experience." 

"  If  I  were  the  glass,"  said  Miss  Vivian — and  her  eyes 
were  now  cast  down — "  and  if  I  found  myself  being  treat- 
ed like  that,  I  should  feel  not  that  I  was  being  taken  care 
of,  but  that  I  was  not  worth  being  lifted.  But  you  know 
better  than  I  do — yes,  for  you  have  had  experience — 
by  which  you  mean  many  experiences — just  as  you  have 
seen  many  countries;  and  I  dare  say  you  have  broken 
and  thrown  away  many  things.  Isn't  that  so  ?  I  think 
it  must  be,  for  look — do  you  know  what  you  are  doing 
now?  If  you  don't  go  away,  or  if  I  don't,  you'll  have 
broken  my  flowers  presently — my  poor,  unfortunate  vio- 
lets. How  dark  they  look!  See,  by  this  light  they  are 
almost  black.  No  matter.  You  may  break  them  if  you 
like—" 

But  her  words  ended  in  a  gasp.  At  that  moment,  and 
for  a  flickering  moment  only,  Sir  Rawlin's  face  to  her, 
and  her  face  to  him,  seemed  to  have  been  transfigured 
into  a  mask  of  illuminated  alabaster,  and  a  pennon  of 
blinding  fire  had  shaken  itself  across  the  night  outside. 
The  next  thing  Sir  Rawlin  knew  was  that  her  face  was 
hidden  on  his  shoulder,  and  the  beating  of  her  heart  was 
as  audible  to  him  as  if  it  had  been  his  own.  Then,  after  a 
breathless  silence,  came  a  crackle  and  a  roar  of  thunder, 
so  long  and  loud  that  the  window-frames  and  the  floor 
trembled. 

Sir  Rawlin,  remembering  what  he  had  seen  before, 
had  been  conscious  for  a  moment  of  nothing  but  a  fear 
that  the  girl  might  faint,  and  of  an  urgent  anxiety  of  a 
common-sense  kind  as  to  the  consequences.  Something, 
however,  told  him  that  this  precise  result  was  unlikely. 
When  the  thunder  began  she  had  clung  to  him  yet  more 

206 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

closely,  but  the  manner  in  which  she  did  so  showed  him 
that  she  was  not  losing  her  strength. 

"Nest,"  he  said  to  her,  not  pausing  to  choose  his 
words — "  Nest,  my  dearest  child,  come  back  to  the  mu- 
sic-room. You  won't  see  the  lightning,  and  you'll  hardly 
hear  the  thunder  there."  But  he  felt  that  his  suggestion 
met  with  curiously  small  approval.  Her  laces  brushed 
his  hands.  The  scent  of  her  violets,  which  were  now 
being  bruised  indeed,  faintly  touched  his  nostrils.  Then, 
as  he  could  not  extricate  himself,  his  face  bent  slowly 
down  toward  her,  and  she  was  aware  that  a  kiss  had 
formed  itself  as  his  lips  just  brushed  her  hair.  At  that 
instant  came  a  second  flash,  which  seemed  to  have  licked 
the  window-panes,  and  the  thunder  followed  after  barely 
a  second's  interval.  "Come,"  he  repeated — "come  in- 
side at  once.  It  is  madness  to  wait  here  longer — mad- 
ness for  many  reasons.  What,  my  child,  won't  you  do 
as  I  ask  you  ?  Nest,  do  you  know  this  ? — I  have  dreamed 
of  you  every  night." 

At  last  she  looked  up  at  him,  her  head  thrown  slightly 
back.  He  felt  the  momentary  pressure  of  her  deep- 
drawn,  happy  sigh,  and  her  eyes,  dim  and  glimmering 
with  a  new  appeal,  were  expectant. 

"I,  too,  have  dreamed,"  she  said.  "I  have  dreamed 
of  this — of  this.  I  was  dreaming  of  this  when  I  was 
trying  to  paint  the  sea." 

These  last  words,  which  were  a  whisper,  seemed  to 
lose  themselves  in  a  blue-white  blaze,  accompanied  by 
a  crash  quite  close  to  them,  like  that  of  an  exploding 
shell.  The  floor  and  the  walls  shook,  and  a  pane  of 
glass  was  shivered.  For  a  moment  they  were  both  be- 
wildered by  the  sound,  the  flame,  the  shock.  The  room 
was  rilled  with  dust  and  an  odd,  sulphurous  odor.  Sir 
Rawlin,  quickly  recovering  himself,  looked  first  toward 
the  window,  then  at  the  girl  whose  hand  was  now  grip- 
ping his.  To  his  astonishment  she  was  smiling  calmly. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "after  all,  we  are  still  alive,  or  I 
think  we  are." 

207 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

"Do  you  know,"  said  Sir  Rawlin,  "what  has  hap- 
pened? The  lightning  has  struck  the  balcony.  It  has 
twisted  the  rails,  and  a  bit  of  the  stone  has  fallen.  Now, 
positively  and  with  no  more  nonsense,  you  must  go." 

He  wound  his  arm  round  her  waist,  with  the  effect  very 
nearly  of  carrying  her,  and  hurried  her  back  through 
the  narrow  passage  of  the  conservatory.  They  neither 
of  them  lost  their  wits,  however,  for  by  the  time  they 
had  reached  the  steps  which  would  bring  them  back  to 
the  music -room  their  bearing  was  beyond  reproach — 
not  only  his,  but  hers.  She  had  skilfully  patted  her  vio- 
lets into  something  like  their  pristine  order,  and  con- 
trived, with  possibly  more  success  than  he,  to  enter 
as  though  nothing  unusual  had  happened  except  the 
storm. 

Her  companion  was  lost  in  wonder  at  her  singular  self- 
possession;  but  he  noticed  as  she  sat  down,  which  she 
did,  at  his  suggestion,  on  the  first  chair  that  presented 
itself,  that  her  limbs  had  begun  to  tremble. 

"I  must,"  he  said,  "tell  Lord  Cotswold  about  the  ac- 
cident that  has  befallen  his  outworks." 

"Do,"  she  said,  smiling,  "find  him.  I  am  perfectly 
happy  here." 

Their  entrance  had  been  unnoticed,  as  had  probably 
been  their  absence  also;  for  the  storm,  which  had  in- 
terrupted Mr.  Barton  in  his  triumphant  rendering  of  a 
mass,  had  constituted  a  more  moving  performance  than 
the  finest  piano-playing  in  the  world. 

Lord  Cotswold,  catching  sight  of  Sir  Rawlin,  came 
toward  him  with  an  odd  glitter  in  his  eyes. 

"This  is  nearly  as  fine,"  he  said,  "as  what  you  and 
I  witnessed  once  among  the  mounds  of  Babylon,  with 
nothing  but  a  tent  to  protect  us.  We  had,  my  dear  fel- 
low, no  lightning-conductors  there.  We  had  to  take 
our  chance,  and  we  enjoyed  it." 

"I  don't  want  to  frighten  your  company,"  said  Sir 
Rawlin,  lowering  his  voice,  "but  you  must,  I  think,  have 
taken  your  conductors  on  trust.  A  bit  of  the  balcony 

208 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

of  your  smoking-room  window  is  gone.     I  was  close  by 
when  it  happened." 

"Then  my  landlord,"  said  Lord  Cotswold,  placidly, 
"must  bear  the  loss  of  his  balcony  better  than  I,  my 
dear  Rawlin,  should  have  borne  the  loss  of  you." 

A  plaintive  voice  interrupted  them.  It  was  Lady 
Susannah  Lipscombe's. 

"Sir  Rawlin,"  she  said,  "can  you  tell  me  what's  be- 
come of  Nest?  I  can't  see  her  anywhere.  You  know 
what  makes  me  anxious." 

"You  needn't  be  anxious,"  he  answered.  "I  had 
taken  her  to  see  the  conservatory  just  when  the  storm 
broke.  There  she  is,  and  you'll  find  her  as  calm  as 
you  are." 

Lady  Susannah  hastened  to  the  girl's  side.  Lord 
Cotswold's  eyes  followed  her. 

"If  the  shepherdess  is  frightened,  as  the  aunt  seems 
to  suppose,  she's  the  first  shepherdess  I've  seen  who 
could  make  fright  ornamental.  Another  flash — did  you 
see  it  ?  And  now  wait  for  the  thunder.  Hark !  it  was  a 
long  time  coming.  The  storm's  drifting  away  from  us. 
Listen  again.  That's  rain.  Well,  since  our  friends  are 
no  longer  in  danger,  they  will  be  brave  enough  to  enjoy 
hearing  how  close  the  danger  has  been." 

The  news  of  the  catastrophe  proved  to  be  highly  popu- 
lar, and  one  or  two  adventurous  spirits,  headed  by  Mr. 
Hugo,  who  felt  from  his  intimate  knowledge  of  it  that 
the  lightning  of  it  was  a  sort  of  cousin  of  his  own,  set  out 
to  inspect  the  havoc  with  a  pleasant  sense  of  intrepidity. 
Mr.  Barton,  meanwhile,  who  had  again  been  searching 
for  Miss  Vivian,  having  now  seen  her,  and  having  seen, 
too,  that  she  had  no  other  company  than  her  aunt's, 
made  his  way  toward  her  with  an  eagerness  which  he 
could  ill  restrain.  By  the  time  he  had  reached  her  she 
had  risen,  and,  with  no  signs  of  discomposure  other  than 
a  slight  impatience,  was  affecting  to  pull  up  her  long 
gloves  over  her  elbows,  which,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  they 
showed  no  inclination  to  leave. 

209 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

"My  dear,"  her  aunt  was  saying  to  her,  "you're  sure 
that  you  feel  quite  well?" 

"Perfectly,"  the  girl  answered.  "I'm  only  a  little 
restless.  I  feel  as  if  I  must  walk  about." 

"Will  you,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  "take  a  turn  about  the 
room  with  me?" 

"There's  nothing  in  the  world,"  she  answered,  "that 
I  should  like  less.  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  hardly  knew 
what  I  was  saying.  Come,  Mr.  Barton — yes,  stroll  with 
me  round  the  room,  as  you  said.  I  would  sooner  walk 
than  talk." 

Mr.  Barton  was  overjoyed  to  secure  her,  let  the  terms 
be  what  they  might.  The  scantiness  of  the  furniture 
rendered  walking  easy,  and  the  company,  though  some 
had  by  this  time  gone  in  to  supper,  was  still  sufficiently 
numerous  to  render  it  not  conspicuous.  Their  wander- 
ing tete-a-tete  had  not,  however,  lasted  long  when  it  met 
with  an  interruption  which  jarred  on  Mr.  Barton's  nerves 
as  one  of  the  most  affronting  and  unpardonable  kind 
conceivable.  Dr.  Thistlewood,  who  had  been  for  some 
time  missing,  entered  the  room  in  haste,  and  without  any 
apology  for  his  intrusiveness  instantly  came  up  to  them. 

"Mr.  Barton,"  he  began,  "I  have  something  special 
to  say  to  you." 

Mr.  Barton  bowed  stiffly. 

Dr.  Thistlewood,  however,  taking  no  note  of  his  man- 
ner, had  turned  to  Miss  Vivian  with  a  glance  that 
searched  her  face. 

"What  is  this?"  he  said.  "Has  the  thunder  upset 
your  nerves  a  little  ?  It  often  does  that  to  some  people. 
You  stay  here,  young  lady,  and  I'll  speak  to  you  in  an- 
other moment." 

Mr.  Barton's  face  had  grown  more  and  more  severe. 
"Well,  sir,"  he  said,  "what  is  it?" 

"I  want  to  tell  you,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "that  in 
one  of  the  cottages  over  the  hill  there's  a  woman  in  the 
act  of  dying.  I've  been  with  her  for  the  last  half-hour. 
The  parish  doctor  was  engaged.  My  remedies  and  ad- 

210 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

vice  have  already  done  all  they  can.  She  is  anxious  to 
receive  yours,  which  I  trust  may  be  more  effectual.  The 
case  is  not  infectious,  and  you  needn't  be  afraid  of  the 
rain.  It  was  stopping  as  I  re-entered  the  house.  If  it 
weren't  that  this  young  lady  would  be  the  better  for  a 
little  attention,  I  would  have  walked  there  with  you 
myself.  As  it  is,  I  will  join  you  shortly.  Redmond — the 
woman's  name  is.  My  servant,  who  will  show  you  the 
way,  is  at  the  door  with  a  little  case  for  you.  It  con- 
tains everything  that  is  necessary  for  the  administra- 
tion of  your  last  sacraments." 

Mr.  Barton  was  completely  taken  aback.  His  lip 
quivered.  He  went  through  some  obvious  struggle. 
Then  his  expression  changed,  and,  offering  Dr.  Thistle- 
wood  his  hand,  "I  thank  you,"  he  said,  "for  being  a 
messenger  and  also  an  example  of  duty  to  me."  And 
turning  on  his  heel  he  went. 

"And  now,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood  to  Miss  Vivian,  "do 
you  mind  my  having  a  little  talk  with  you  ?" 

"Not  in  the  least,"  she  answered,  with  a  slight,  in- 
voluntary shiver.  "  I  don't  know  why  I  did  that.  I'm 
sure  I  haven't  caught  a  chill.  Yes,  Dr.  Thistlewood, 
talk.  I  think  it  would  be  a  rest  to  hear  you.  Where 
shall  we  go?  I'll  go  anywhere  you  like  to  tell  me." 

"I  knew,"  he  said,  "that  day  when  you  sang  at  tea 
to  us,  and  when  for  a  moment  you  felt  that  you  were 
going  to  sleep — I  knew  that  your  influenza  had  left  some 
trace  behind  it.  Nerves,  nerves — we  are  all  of  us  made 
up  of  nerves.  I've  a  little  den  of  my  own  here,  which 
leads  out  of  that  passage.  Shall  we  go  in  there  for  a 
minute  or  two?  It  will  do  you  good  to  rest." 

She  accompanied  him  with  the  docility  of  a  child,  and 
they  entered  a  small  sitting-room  furnished  with  com- 
fortable chairs. 

"There,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  soothingly,  "sit  down 
by  the  fire.  We  won't  talk  about  health.  Your  own 
doctor  must  do  that.  Let  us  talk  about  imagination. 
I  should  think  you  were  very  imaginative." 

211 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

"Am  I?"  she  said,  indifferently.  "Why  do  you  tell 
me  that?" 

"I  mean,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "that,  if  an  idea  is 
suggested  to  you,  it  is  often  sufficiently  vivid  to  affect 
you  in  some  practical  way.  For  instance,  when  I  spoke 
to  you  about  not  going  to  sleep,  you  woke  up  at  once, 
and  the  little  passing  weakness  cured  itself.  But  we're 
not  going  to  be  medical.  When  I  speak  about  your  im- 
agination now,  what  I  mean  is  that,  if  one  mentions  or 
describes  an  object  to  you,  your  mind  or  imagination 
conjures  up  for  you  an  almost  visible  image  of  it.  Here 
now  is  a  book — a  Bradshaw,  with  a  red  leather  cover, 
on  which  are  three  blots  of  ink.  My  impression  is  that 
if  I  told  you  to  think  of  this  afterward  you  would,  much 
more  clearly  than  nine  people  out  of  ten,  see  a  mental 
image  of  this  blotted  book  before  you.  You  don't  think 
there's  much  in  that.  No — but  highly  suggestible  imag- 
inations can  sometimes  do  more  that  those  who  possess 
them  are  aware  of.  Suppose  we  try;  and  if  you  fancy 
I  am  playing  you  a  trick — well,  you  must  catch  me  out. 
Here's  the  book,  then.  Look  at  it.  Now  close  both 
your  eyes,  and  when  you  open  them  you  will  find  that 
the  book  has  disappeared." 

With  a  faint  smile  of  resignation  she  closed  her  eyes 
as  directed,  murmuring  as  she  did  so : 

"This  is  like  some  game  of  a  school-boy's.  Don't  do 
anything  disagreeable.  Don't  put  something  nasty  in 
my  mouth." 

"  Now,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  the  book  being  still  held 
out  to  her,  "open  your  eyes.  Where  is  the  Bradshaw 
now?" 

"I  don't  know,"  she  replied.  "You  have  hidden  it 
away  somewhere.  Anybody  could  have  done  that." 

"What  do  you  think,"  he  said,  "that  I  am  doing  with 
my  right  hand?" 

"  It  looks  to  me,"  said  the  girl,  "as  if  you  were  pretend- 
ing to  hold  something  with  it.  Oh,  I  understand  you  now. 
You  want  to  see  if  I  can  imagine  that  the  book's  there." 

212 


AN   IMMORTAL  SOUL 

Dr.  Thistlewood  laughed.  "Well,"  he  said,  "put 
out  your  hand  and  feel.  Is  my  hand  only  pretending? 
Do  your  fingers  feel  nothing  solid?" 

Miss  Vivian  started.  "Yes,"  she  said,  "they  seem  to 
be  touching  a  book,  but  I  see  only  empty  air.  Perhaps 
if  I'd  not  my  gloves  on — " 

But  Dr.  Thistlewood  interrupted  her.  "Never  mind 
about  the  gloves,"  he  said.  "Just  stay  quiet  and  watch 
me.  The  book  is  in  my  right  hand  still.  I  am  going  to 
transfer  it  to  my  left.  As  soon  as  my  left  hand  has  hold 
of  it  you  will  see  it  again  as  large  as  life." 

"Yes,"  said  Miss  Vivian,  "that's  perfectly  true.  I 
see  it.  But  this  is  all  a  trick,  and  I  can't  guess  tricks  to- 
night. I  should  like  to  sleep  for  five  minutes.  I  wish 
I  was  in  my  own  bed." 

"Well,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  kindly,  "I  won't  trouble 
you  any  more.  Yes,  go  to  sleep  for  a  minute  or  two. 
It's  the  best  thing  you  can  do.  I'll  speak  to  Lady  Susan- 
nah, and  when  the  carriage  is  ready  I'll  come  back  for 
you." 

When  he  found  himself  again  in  the  music-room  the 
company  was  fast  dispersing,  and  Lady  Susannah  and 
Mr.  Carlton,  both  of  them  in  some  agitation,  were  in- 
quiring of  Sir  Rawlin  if  he  knew  where  Miss  Vivian  was. 

"I'm  afraid,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  coming  up  to  her, 
"that  in  a  natural  and  a  quite  unalarming  way  Miss 
Vivian  is  beginning  to  feel  what  she  didn't  seem  to  feel 
at  first — I  mean  the  shock  caused  by  the  lightning  when 
it  happened  to  hit  the  house.  Don't  be  anxious.  I  con- 
gratulate you  on  your  young  lady's  courage.  Only  self- 
restraint  is  an  effort,  and  the  effort  has  had  the  happy 
effect  of  tiring  her.  At  the  present  moment  she  is  sound 
asleep  in  my  study.  The  best  thing  will  be,  if  we  can 
manage  it,  to  get  her  quietly  home  without  waking  her 
and  have  her  put  straight  to  bed.  I  suppose  you  have 
two  carriages.  I  will  order  one  of  them,  if  you'll  let  me, 
to  come  round  to  the  private  door  and  we'll  get  her  into 
it  without  any  fuss  or  trouble.  If  you  wouldn't  mind 

213 


AN    IMMORTAL  SOUL 

going  home  with  her  yourself  now,  the  rest  of  your  party 
can  come  on  when  it  suits  them.  I  see  a  young  man  of 
yours  there,  who  is  sitting  down  to  a  game  of  cards." 

Dr.  Thistlewood  exhibited  such  masterly  promptitude 
that,  before  five  minutes  were  over,  his  arrangements 
were  all  complete.  The  side  door  was  not  far  from  his 
sitting-room,  and  he  himself,  carrying  the  girl  as  though 
she  were  no  more  than  a  feather,  had  placed  her  in  the 
carriage,  her  sleep  being  quite  unbroken. 

"She's  very  light,"  he  said  to  Lady  Susannah.  "Your 
own  servants — I  noticed  that  you  have  a  stalwart  foot- 
man— will  have  no  difficulty  in  getting  her  to  her  own 
room.  The  longer  she  can  sleep  the  better.  I  will  call 
or  send  to-morrow  to  hear  of  her  complete  recovery." 

"Tell  me,"  said  Lord  Cotswold,  when  Dr.  Thistlewood 
appeared  again,  "what's  all  this?  I  hope  there's  noth- 
ing really  the  matter  with  her." 

Dr.  Thistlewood  explained  what  had  happened,  and 
assured  him  that  there  was  nothing  to  be  alarmed  about. 

"  If  I,"  said  Lady  Conway,  looking  up  from  the  card- 
table,  at  which  she  had  begun  to  give  Oswald  his  first 
lesson  in  piquet — "  if  I  had  been  at  that  window  I  should 
have  been  frightened  out  of  my  life.  I  envy  young 
people  whom  a  thunderbolt  merely  puts  to  sleep  at  bed- 
time. Oswald,  my  dear  boy,  you're  incorrigible.  Fancy 
playing  a  card  like  that!  It  strikes  me  forcibly  that, 
unless  this  narcotic  tempest  is  going  to  make  all  of  us 
sleep  on  Lord  Cotswold's  chairs  and  sofas,  we  had  better 
be  following  Miss  Vivian's  example,  and  taking  ourselves 
back  to  our  own  lawful  pillows.  My  dear  Dr.  Gustav," 
she  continued,  "why  that  hat  in  your  hand  and  that 
gray  coat  over  your  arm  ?  Has  your  own  lawful  pillow 
suddenly  ceased  to  be  enough  for  you  ?" 

Dr.  Thistlewood,  who  was  actually  carrying  with  him 
both  these  articles  of  attire,  looked  at  Lady  Conway 
with  a  sort  of  contemptuous  friendliness. 

"  Your  penetration,"  he  said,  "  does  you  credit.  I  am 
going,  as  you  guess,  to  a  pillow  that  is  not  my  own — the 

214 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

pillow  of  a  woman  who  is  dying,  if  she  is  not  already 
dead.  Next  to  the  manner  in  which  human  beings  live, 
the  most  interesting  thing  to  me  is  the  manner  in  which 
they  die.  I  hope  to  be  in  time  to  witness  the  application 
of  the  priest's  anaesthetics,  which  in  some  cases,  though 
not  in  all,  give  more  relief  than  ours." 


CHAPTER  XII 

HAD  the  lightning  struck  Sir  Rawlin  and  reduced 
him  to  a  scorched  cripple,  his  consciousness  of  hav- 
ing suffered  some  staggering  and  incalculable  disaster 
could  hardly  have  been  greater  than  it  was  the  following 
morning.  He  was  loaded  with  a  sense  that  in  one  un- 
guarded moment — a  moment  in  which  his  own  conduct 
had  been  wrenched  out  of  his  hands  by  circumstances — 
he  had  taken  a  step  which  even  yet  he  could  hardly 
grasp  as  real.  Lady  Conway,  so  he  told  himself,  had 
been  absolutely  right  from  the  first.  In  spite  of  her 
warnings,  in  spite  of  his  own  caution,  he  had  put  himself 
in  a  position  from  which,  alike  in  his  own  eyes  and  those 
of  all  reasonable  people,  he  could  only  emerge  as  an 
object  either  of  ridicule  or  contemptuous  condemnation. 
To  marry  this  girl  who  was  less  than  half  his  age,  and  to 
whom,  though  the  thought  of  her  even  now  made  a  deep 
appeal  to  him,  he  could  never  be  a  true  companion  except 
as  a  life-long  tour  de  force — to  marry  her  would  be  an 
experiment  foredoomed  to  grotesque  disaster.  And  yet, 
having  held  her  in  his  arms,  in  what  way  could  he  meet 
her  again,  unless  he  were  prepared,  as  Lady  Conway  had 
put  it,  to  satisfy  the  expectations  he  had  so  madly  per- 
mitted himself  to  raise  ? 

There  was,  however,  one  duty  which  he  certainly  could 
not  neglect — a  duty  which  was  simple  and  immediate. 
Miss  Vivian's  indisposition,  though  nobody  had  made  too 
much  of  it,  had  at  least  been  sufficient  to  demand  that, 
in  the  course  of  the  morning,  he  should  send  to  Cliff's 
End,  or  else  call  there,  to  inquire  if  she  were  quite  re- 
covered. Resolving  to  grasp  his  nettle,  he  chose  the 

216 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

latter  alternative.  He  went  as  early  as  possible,  in  the 
hope  that  he  would  thus  see  nobody  but  a  servant,  and 
would  yet  at  the  same  time  be  exhibiting  a  due  solicitude. 
Comparing  his  present  with  his  previous  journeys  to  the 
house,  he  now  felt  like  a  criminal  who  was  going  to  his 
own  execution. 

Fate,  however,  had  some  relief  in  store  for  him.  While 
the  butler,  in  answer  to  his  inquiries,  was  giving  him 
the  comfortable  information  that  slight  overfatigue  was 
Miss  Vivian's  only  malady — such  was  Dr.  Thistlewood's 
verdict — and  that  she  still  was  sound  asleep,  Dr.  This- 
tlewood  himself  appeared,  accompanied  by  Lady  Susan- 
nah, who,  smiling  with  quiet  satisfaction,  was  thanking 
him  for  his  help  and  counsel. 

"Well,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  when,  after  a  little  con- 
versation on  the  doorstep,  he  and  Sir  Rawlin  went  down 
the  drive  together,  "  I  don't  think  we  need  trouble  our- 
selves much  about  our  charming  young  lady  this  time. 
The  probability  is  that  when  she  wakes  up — and  it  will 
be  a  capital  thing  for  her  if  she  sleeps  the  whole  day 
through — she'll  quite  have  forgotten  the  storm  and  every- 
thing else  connected  with  it.  Retrograde  amnesia — 
that's  what  some  doctors  call  it — is,  in  constitutions 
like  hers,  a  very  common  occurrence.  She'll  merely 
remember  that  she  went  to  Lord  Cotswold's  party; 
that  she  talked  to  you  at  the  beginning  of  it;  that  she 
listened  to  Mr.  Barton's  playing;  and  that  somehow  she 
went  to  sleep  in  a  corner,  and  was  taken  home  to  her 
bed;  and  the  matter  will  end  there." 

Had  the  skies  at  midnight  opened  and  poured  down  a 
flood  of  sunlight,  the  aspect  of  the  world  for  Sir  Rawlin 
could  not  have  been  more  changed.  He  felt  like  a  man 
who  has  been  roused  from  a  portentous  nightmare.  So 
great  was  his  relief  that  he  dared  not  trust  himself  to 
speak.  But  his  caution  was  unnecessary.  Dr.  Thistle- 
wood's  thoughts  already  had  taken  a  new  direction. 

"  By-the-way,  last  night,"  he  said,  "  I  got  back  just  in 
time  to  see  our  friend  Mr.  Barton  engaged  in  his  proper 

217 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

work.  Any  one  is  impressive  who  really  believes  what 
he  preaches;  and  the  old  woman,  who  I  shrewdly  suspect 
was  a  Catholic,  could  not  have  made  a  better  ending  had 
he  been  one  of  her  own  priests.  I  had  thought  of  going 
this  morning  to  have  a  look  at  those  cottages  by  day- 
light." 

"The  ground,"  said  Sir  Rawlin,  "on  which  they  stand 
is  mine.  They  are  leaseholds,  and  I've  no  authority; 
but  I'll  go  with  you  myself,  and  we'll  consider  what 
ought  to  be  done.  The  only  two  acts  we  are  certain  not 
to  regret  are  to  avoid  giving  pain  and  to  alleviate  it." 

"Alleviate  it  when  you  can,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood; 
"when  you  can't,  don't  be  disturbed  by  it.  In  those 
two  commandments  lie  all  the  law  and  the  prophets.  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  we  found  our  priest  at  the  cottages." 

This  conjecture  proved  correct.  Sir  Rawlin  and  Dr. 
Thistlewood  found  him  there  when  they  reached  the 
spot,  just  emerging  from  the  cottage  of  the  woman  who 
had  died  last  night.  His  priestly  manner  was  for  the 
time  in  abeyance.  He  was  the  cool,  practical  man,  with 
some  knowledge  of  domestic  engineering.  He  informed 
the  new-comers  that  already  a  sanitary  inspector  had 
been  summoned  by  him,  and  was  making,  indeed,  at  that 
moment,  a  house-to-house  visitation ;  and  he  went  on  to 
say  that  matters  were  not  so  bad  as  they  might  have 
been,  though  the  condition  of  the  drains  was  in  many 
respects  a  standing  danger.  Then  the  conversation  was 
effectually  changed  in  tone  by  Dr.  Thistlewood 's  observ- 
ing to  him,  as  a  thing  which  he  might  be  glad  to  hear, 
that  Miss  Vivian's  breakdown  last  night  was  merely  a 
passing  trifle,  and  that  to-morrow,  or  at  least  in  a  day  or 
two,  she  would  be  just  as  well  as  she  ever  was. 

Mr.  Barton  had  forgotten  the  words — indeed,  at  the 
time  they  were  spoken  he  had  noted  them  only  as  an 
interruption — which  Dr.  Thistlewood  last  night  had  ad- 
dressed to  Miss  Vivian  in  his  hearing;  and  he  learned 
now  for  the  first  time  that  she  had  ended  the  evening 
otherwise  than  in  her  normal  health.  The  slight  sense 

218 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

of  resentment  and  the  keen  sense  of  anxiety  which  the 
behavior  of  the  girl  at  the  party  had  not  failed  to  produce 
in  him  at  once  gave  way  to  a  solicitous  and  protecting 
pity;  and  having  learned  that  this  fragile  life  was  now 
sleeping  peacefully,  he  departed  conscious  of  emotions 
which  failed  to  be  peaceful  likewise  only  because  hopes 
were  mixed  with  them  too  tender  to  be  closely  scruti- 
nized. Sir  Rawlin  was  still  fretted  by  the  thought  of 
his  own  late  conduct,  and  was  not  even  yet  easy  with 
regard  to  its  possible  consequences.  Mr.  Barton's  lot 
even  now  was  indeed  much  happier  than  his,  and  before 
the  next  day  was  over  it  was  destined  to  be  happier 
still. 

That  same  afternoon  he  made  his  inquiries  at  Cliff's 
End,  indulging  in  some  faint  hope  that  he  might  see  the 
invalid  in  person.  This  hope  was  unrealized,  but  he  did 
see  Lady  Susannah;  and  what  Lady  Susannah  told  him 
thrilled  him  far  more  profoundly  than  anything  he  could 
have  dreamed  of  hearing  from  the  lips  of  the  invalid 
herself.  Miss  Vivian,  he  learned,  had  slept  till  an  hour 
ago.  She  had  awoke  refreshed  and  placid,  and  suffering 
from  nothing  but  some  sense  of  exhaustion.  Her  only 
recollections  of  the  party  seemed  to  be  that  Mr.  Barton 
had  played  at  it;  that  while  talking  to  him  afterward 
she  had  suddenly  felt  faint;  and  that  then,  somehow  or 
other,  she  had  gone  to  sleep  in  a  chair.  She  was  ap- 
parently much  relieved  to  find  that  she  had  caused  no 
disturbance,  and  especially  that  in  Mr.  Barton's  presence 
she  had  done  or  said  nothing  unusual. 

'"When  is  he  coming  again  to  talk  to  me  about  con- 
firmation?' That,"  said  Lady  Susannah,  "is  a  question 
which  she  has  just  asked  twice.  You  and  the  question 
of  confirmation  seemed  to  be  uppermost  in  her  mind; 
and  if  she's  well  enough  to-morrow  afternoon,  and  you 
happened  to  be  not  otherwise  engaged,  I  really  think  that 
to  see  you  would  be  the  best  thing  for  her  that  could 
happen." 

Here  was  news  which  transcended  Mr.  Barton's  wild- 
is  219 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

est  hopes,  and  which  gave  them  for  the  first  time  the 
outlines  of  some  defined  form.  The  perplexing  vacilla- 
tions which  he  had  come  to  suspect  in  her  nature  be- 
tween the  interests  represented  by  himself,  and  others 
connected  with  some  alien  mystery  of  existence,  was 
ending  at  last  in  a  victory  for  the  soul  and  God.  Though 
her  feet  might  at  times  fail  her,  though  her  gaze  might 
be  at  times  diverted,  her  inmost  wish  and  will  were  to 
seek  that  narrow  path  up  which,  with  the  aid  of  God, 
his  own  hands  might  guide  her.  "Theophilus,"  his 
Lord  seemed  to  say  to  him,  "lovest  thou  Me  more  than 
these?"  And  before  he  had  time  to  answer,  the  Divine 
Voice  continued:  "If  thou  lovest  Me,  feed  My  lambs." 

He  was  still  full  of  thoughts  like  these  when  the  hour 
appointed  came,  which  was  to  confirm  him  in  his  con- 
fidence that  he  alone  had  read  her  truly,  and  make  his 
own  nature  blossom  into  a  wonder  which  he  hardly  rec- 
ognized as  himself.  Shortly  before  five  on  the  follow- 
ing afternoon  he  almost  ran  down  the  road  from  his  own 
house  to  Cliff's  End,  prepared  for  what  was  waiting  him, 
though  not  even  then  prescient  of  it. 

He  was  shown  into  the  drawing-room,  where  Lady 
Susannah,  who  was  at  tea,  offered  him  a  cup  which  he 
accepted,  but  could  not  force  himself  to  swallow. 

"My  niece,"  she  said,  "will  be  very  much  pleased  to 
see  you;  but  be  careful  not  to  excite  her,  for  she's  rather 
pulled  down  still.  I  have  had  to-day  two  telegrams — 
one  from  her  parents,  and  one  from  her  old  physician, 
Dr.  Gonteau,  and  they  both  beg  that,  if  possible,  she  may 
be  placed  under  the  advice  of  Dr.  Thistlewood ;  and  Dr. 
Thistlewood,  who  was  with  her  not  long  before  you  came, 
says  that  no  visitor — not  even  an  old  friend  like  you — 
ought  to  stay  with  her  this  afternoon  for  more  than 
twenty  minutes.  Perhaps  you  won't  mind  coming  into 
my  boudoir.  Nest  is  in  there.  I'll  take  you  to  her  now 
if  you  are  ready." 

Mr.  Barton  rose  at  once,  and  followed  her  with  a  beat- 
ing heart.  "Ah,"  said  Lady  Susannah,  as  she  opened 

220 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

the  boudoir  door,  "she  must  have  gone  up  to  her  room. 
Wait,  and  I'll  send  her  down  to  you." 

Mr.  Barton,  who  accordingly  found  himself  left  alone 
with  Lady  Susannah's  dim,  small-patterned  chintzes,  her 
china  on  rosewood  whatnots,  and  a  copy  of  his  own 
parochial  magazine  on  the  green  velvet  cloth  of  an  other- 
wise bare  table,  began  to  be  conscious  of  a  hollowness 
underneath  his  waistcoat,  and  a  sense  that  he  hardly 
knew  what  was  about  to  happen  or  what  he  wished  to 
happen.  For  a  moment  he  thought  it  would  simplify 
things  if  they  were  only  to  talk  about  the  weather,  or  if 
he  were  to  make  his  escape  on  the  pretence  that  he 
could  wait  no  longer. 

At  last  Miss  Vivian  entered.  She  was  dressed  in 
a  rose-colored  tea-gown  softened  by  mysterious  laces, 
which  emphasized  by  a  subtle  contrast  the  ivory  white- 
ness of  her  arms.  Pale  though  she  was,  and  exhibiting 
signs  of  lassitude,  Mr.  Barton  felt  himself  almost  aghast 
at  her  beauty  and  the  careless  erectness  of  her  carriage. 
The  sight  of  him  seemed  to  please  her,  and  she  offered 
him  a  friendly  though  a  somewhat  languid  hand. 

"It's  so  nice  of  you,"  she  said,  "to  take  pity  like  this 
on  my  solitude.  I'm  afraid  you'll  find  me  rather  a 
washed-out  rag.  Will  it  fidget  you  if  I  walk  about  a 
little?  I  suppose  that,  having  had  more  than  my  due 
share  of  rest,  I  am  paying  for  it  now  by  an  undue  share 
of  restlessness." 

Mr.  Barton  besought  her  to  walk  about  as  she  pleased. 
"I  know  myself,"  he  said,  "what  it  is  to  be  restless,  but 
I  do  trust  that  you  are  not  suffering  otherwise."  He 
thought  of  the  occasions  on  which  he  had  called  her 
"my  dear  child."  He  now  felt  that  the  smallest  inti- 
macy in  addressing  her  was  no  less  impossible  than  it 
would  have  been  had  this  girl  been  a  reigning  sovereign. 

"Oh  no,"  she  answered.  "  Otherwise  I'm  right  enough. 
Thank  you  very  much  for  asking." 

With  awkward  and  half-hearted  attempts  to  disguise 
an  increasing  shyness,  he  put  to  her  some  further  ques- 

221 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

tions  relating  to  the  merest  trifles,  for  he  divined  that 
an  abrupt  approach  to  any  serious  topic  was  imprac- 
ticable; but  her  answers,  though  there  was  nothing  un- 
friendly in  them,  amounted  to  little  more  than  one  or 
two  listless  words.  He  began  to  fear  at  last  that  any 
conversation  in  her  present  state  might  be  too  much  for 
her,  and  he  was  beginning  to  regard  her  with  a  pang  of 
disappointed  sympathy,  when  he  found  that  his  timid 
observations  met  with  no  response  at  all.  He  looked  at 
her  with  a  sharpened  attention.  By  this  time  she  had 
ceased  to  walk.  She  was  leaning  against  a  cabinet  op- 
posite to  him,  her  head  slightly  bent  and  her  hand  shad- 
ing her  eyes,  as  though  she  were  absorbed  in  thought 
and  were  hardly  conscious  of  his  presence.  A  growing 
fear  overtook  him  that  she  was  possibly  about  to  faint; 
but  suddenly,  to  his  surprise  and  pleasure,  came  a  marked 
and  reassuring  change.  With  some  effort  of  will  it  seem- 
ed that  she  had  pulled  herself  together,  and  once  again 
she  began  to  return  his  look.  But  the  change,  Mr.  Bar- 
ton became  aware,  had  not  ended  here.  Apathy — he 
could  not  be  deceiving  himself — had  given  place  in  her 
to  personal  interest,  and  a  light  had  come  into  her  eyes, 
or  the  suggestion  of  a  light,  which  he  knew  that  he  must 
long  have  dreamed  of,  but  which  never  till  this  moment 
had  he  seen  in  them  when  they  met  his  own. 

Mr.  Barton  felt  as  if  the  room  were  beginning  to  turn 
round.  This  light,  this  ineffable  light,  grew  more  and 
more  unmistakable — appealing,  tender,  and  yet  with  a 
vague  reproach  in  it.  She  moved  toward  the  fire  and 
sank  quietly  into  a  chair,  motioning  to  him  to  be  seated 
also. 

"  I  suppose,"  she  said,  speaking  in  a  low,  soft  tone, 
"  that  women  hardly  know  what  feelings  are  really  deep- 
est in  them — for  sometimes  one  feels  one  thing,  some- 
times another.  Do  you  know,  I  have  so  often  doubted, 
I  have  been  swayed  this  way  and  that.  But  events  take 
us  at  unawares,  and  then  it  all  comes  out.  I  was  sure 
that  you  would  come  back  to  me.  After  all  you  have 

222 


AN    IMMORTAL  SOUL 

said  to  me  here — you  know  what  I  mean — I  was  sure 
that  you,  from  the  very  first  time  you  saw  me,  did  take 
a  real  personal  interest  in  me — yes,  and  I  in  you." 

"I  take  more  interest  in  you,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  in 
words  that  came  out  slowly,  each  word  trembling  like 
a  leaf — "  in  you,  in  your  own  self,  in  your  own  sacred 
soul — oh,  my  beloved  one — than  I  have  ever — no,  I  can't 
express  it.  Look  at  me.  Look  at  me.  Look  at  me. 
You  have  taken  me  into  a  new  world.  By-and-by  you 
must  teach  me  a  new  language." 

"  I  trust  you,"  she  replied,  with  a  grave  smile.  "  Yes, 
I  trust  you — even  if  I  am  only  a  cup,  as  Dr.  Thistle  wood 
says,  to  be  drunk  from  and  cast  aside." 

"Did  he  say  that  of  you?"  the  unaccustomed  lover 
exclaimed.  "The  brute  beast!  My  first  impression  of 
that  man  was,  after  all,  right." 

"  Never  mind,"  she  said,  soothingly.  "  Don't  let  us 
talk  of  that.  For  the  present — for  to-night — it's  enough 
for  me  to  have  you  here,  though  you  won't  be  able  to 
stop  long.  Tell  me — how  did  you  manage  to  come  back  ? 
As  they  all  must  have  seen  you  go,  you  shouldn't  have 
come  back  like  this." 

Mr.  Barton,  so  far  as  the  tumult  of  his  deeper  feelings 
permitted  him,  was  conscious  of  some  faint  surprise  at 
this  last  observation;  but  he  quickly  remembered  the 
fact  of  her  protracted  sleep,  which  would  naturally  have 
confused  and  foreshortened  her  ideas  of  time,  and  have 
probably  made  her  suppose  that  his  last  visit  to  her  in 
that  room  was  yesterday,  and  that  the  intimate  solem- 
nity of  their  interview  was  still  uppermost  in  her  mind. 

"Tell  me,"  she  went  on.  "Which  way  did  you  come 
back  just  now  ?  Did  you  come  in  through  the  conserv- 
atory?" 

Why  it  should  be  supposed  that  he  had  chosen  this 
mode  of  ingress  was  beyond  Mr.  Barton's  immediate 
powers  of  guessing.  A  conservatory,  indeed,  existed  at 
Cliff's  End,  to  which  a  door  from  the  porch  gave  access, 
and  it  might,  for  all  he  knew,  be  possible  to  enter  the 

223 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

house  through  it ;  but  this  was  not  a  route  he  would  ever 
have  thought  of  choosing. 

"  No,"  he  replied,  with  a  smile  and  a  certain  accession 
of  confidence  born  of  the  thought  that  he  was  humor- 
ing an  invalid's  fancy,  "  I  came  into  the  hall  quite  prop- 
erly first,  and  I  wiped  my  feet  on  your  aunt's  new  mat, 
and  then  I  went  into  the  drawing-room,  and  then  I  found 
my  way  here." 

"What  then?"  she  persisted.  "Did  any  of  the  ser- 
vants see  you?  Didn't  they  think  it  odd?" 

"The  butler,"  replied  Mr.  Barton — "yes,  he  saw  me, 
certainly.  So  did  your  aunt  also." 

"  She  didn't !"  exclaimed  the  girl.  "  Well,  I  don't  care, 
after  all,  whether  it  was  odd  or  not.  You  are  here. 
That's  all  that  matters." 

"But  your  aunt,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  still  finding  a  re- 
lief in  dwelling  on  the  unessential — "  you  must  know  that 
she  saw  me.  She  told  you  that  I  was  here,  and  she  sent 
for  you." 

"Well,"  said  Miss  Vivian,  laughing  faintly,  "have  it 
your  own  way.  I'm  too  tired  to  be  teased.  Why  are 
you  so  far  off  ?  Sometimes  I  can  hardly  hear  you.  Come 
— for  one  moment — I  couldn't  stand  it  for  longer — but 
just  for  one  moment  come  over  and  talk  to  me." 

Mr.  Barton  rose.  There  happened  to  be  no  chair  near 
hers.  Before  he  knew  what  he  had  done  he  found  him- 
self at  her  side,  kneeling.  She  leaned  toward  him  and 
laid  her  hand  on  his  hair. 

"My  aunt,"  she  said,  "didn't  send  for  me.  How 
silly  you  are!  I  was  waiting  for  you." 

"  You  are  more  to  me,"  whispered  Mr.  Barton,  thrill- 
ing beneath  this  undreamed-of  touch,  "than  anything 
in  the  whole  wide  world  except  Him  in  whom  you  and  I 
and  all  the  world  exist." 

"  I  was  wondering,"  said  Miss  Vivian,  slowly,  "whether 
you  felt  things  in  that  way.  It's  the  way  I  feel  myself, 
and  I  have  wondered  whether  it  was  yours,  too,  when  I 
burnt  the  incense  that  Mr.  Barton  gave  me,  and  when 

224 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

I  read  Mr.  Barton's  book,  which  points  to  the  star  beyond 
the  star.  And  so  that  book  really  speaks  your  own  feel- 
ings? For  you — for  you  yourself — the  hunger  of  the 
lamb  is  a  witness  to  the  growing  of  the  green  pastures  ? 
Come,  I  am  waiting.  Just  touch  my  lips  with  yours — a 
touch  only,  for  I  could  bear  no  more." 

Mr.  Barton  had  never,  even  in  thought,  kissed  a  wom- 
an's lips  before.  This  was  his  first  hour  of  paradise. 

"Now,"  she  said,  "you  must  go.  That's  all  I  am 
equal  to.  My  aunt  will  be  coming  to  look  after  me.  I 
had  rather  that  you  went  first." 

"I  was  warned,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  "that  I  wasn't  to 
stay  long.  Much  more  must  be  said  as  soon  as  my  be- 
loved, my  beloved,  my  beloved  can  bear  it — to  herself, 
and  to  others  also." 

In  the  act  of  rising  he  so  far  disobeyed  her  that  he 
stooped  and  kissed  her  on  the  forehead,  as  reverently  as 
if  he  were  kissing  the  dead.  She  was  conscious  that  he 
shook  all  over. 

How  he  got  out  of  that  room  Mr.  Barton  never  knew. 
He  was  like  a  man  who  had  died  and  come  to  life  again 
in  a  new  world.  Cliff's  End,  with  its  hall,  its  front  door, 
and  its  winding,  laurelled  drive,  and  the  public  road 
along  which  he  hurried  homeward,  were  shadows  to 
him.  Gradually  through  this  haze  of  beatitude  certain 
thoughts  took  shape,  which  at  first  brought  him  to  earth 
with  their  practical  and  austere  solemnity,  and  then 
lifted  him  up  once  again  on  wings.  He  was  one  of  an 
Anglican  order  whose  members,  so  long  as  they  remain- 
ed in  it,  were  vowed  in  secret  to  celibacy.  Of  priestly 
celibacy  he  had  hitherto  been  an  earnest  though  not  a 
bigoted  advocate.  From  his  brethren  and  his  former 
opinions  he  would  now  have  to  sever  himself. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

MR.  BARTON  was  long  in  realizing  the  fulness  of 
what  had  just  happened  to  him,  but  he  knew  that 
his  whole  nature  had  suffered  some  profound  change. 
His  spiritual  aspirations  were  true  to  their  old  orientation, 
but  mounting  toward  the  object  of  them,  through  a  new 
air  charged  with  wonders,  the  wings  of  his  spirit  were 
lifting  him  with  a  bolder  sweep,  and  colors  from  heaven 
were  shimmering  on  them  which  he  had  never  even  seen 
in  dreams.  He  had,  in  fact,  since  his  last  interview  with 
Miss  Vivian,  passed  by  a  sudden  and  a  curiously  belated 
process  from  the  immaturity  of  youth  to  the  maturity 
of  a  normal  but  untainted  man. 

That  night,  in  the  small  and  cell-like  room,  where  he 
generally  wrote  his  sermons  and  so  often  meditated  on 
his  knees,  he  gave  himself  to  the  composition  of  a  letter 
addressed  to  the  superior  of  his  order,  and  announcing 
the  changed  prospects  which  would  separate  him  from 
the  band  of  brethren.  It  was  thus  that  his  letter  ended: 

"  Dear  Father  in  Christ,  pray  for  me  that  I  may  find  in  this 
most  holy  sacrament  of  marriage  such  means  of  grace  as  will 
enable  me  with  increased  fidelity  to  work  for  the  ends  which  are 
sacred  to  both  of  us." 

This  duty  having  been  accomplished,  a  weight  was 
lifted  from  his  mind.  He  went  out  into  the  suave 
night  air  to  consign  his  missive  to  a  pillar-box;  and  then, 
having  said  his  prayers,  which  were  not  so  much  prayers 
as  thanksgivings,  he  betook  himself  to  his  narrow  bed, 
so  tired  with  happiness  that  he  felt  he  could  no  longer 
cope  with  it.  But  happiness  is  a  foe  to  sleep,  just  as  pain 

226 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

and  sorrow  are.  Mr.  Barton  dozed  at  intervals;  but 
hour  after  hour  was  heard  by  him,  as  it  sounded  from  the 
church  clock,  and  the  new-born  activities  of  his  soul 
would  not  let  his  body  rest.  At  last  he  struck  a  match, 
rose,  and  hurriedly  dressed  himself,  and  throwing  round 
him  the  folds  of  a  black  cloak,  took  a  key  from  his  dress- 
ing-table, and  again  stole  out  into  the  dark.  "My  hair 
is  heavy  with  dew,"  he  murmured,  "and  my  locks  with 
the  drops  of  the  night."  The  key  was  one  belonging  to 
a  side  door  of  the  church.  He  entered,  and,  unper- 
plexed  by  the  obscurity,  made  his  way  to  the  chancel 
and  cast  himself  on  his  knees  before  the  altar.  There,  in 
the  profound  silence,  he  opened  his  heart  to  Him  who 
seemed  to  him  at  this  moment  to  be  a  close  physical 
presence  no  less  truly  than  He  was  when  the  Divine 
Body  told  its  advent  to  man  by  the  touch  of  the  flake-like 
wafer.  "Domine,  non  sum  dignus.  Domine,  non  sum 
dignus.  Oh,  Eternal  Love,  that  hast  died  for  me,  Thou 
hast  given  me  love  for  a  teacher,  so  that,  losing  myself 
in  love  for  what  is  Thine,  I  may  love  Thee  Thyself  more 
worthily."  Hours  ceased  to  exist  for  him  as  he  appeased 
his  restless  spirit  by  unspoken  words  like  these,  and  his 
vigil  did  not  end  until  in  the  high  windows  the  robes  of 
the  saints  and  martyrs  took  a  first  faint  coloring  from  the 
dawn.  Outside,  the  pure,  pale  air  came  to  his  cheeks 
with  a  touch  of  caressing  moisture,  and  all  the  purities 
of  the  world  rose  blushing  beyond  the  eastern  seas.  Be- 
fore re-entering  his  house  he  lingered  in  his  little  plot  of 
garden.  Crocus  and  daffodil  were  dreaming  there  of  the 
love  that  is  at  the  heart  of  all  things,  a  robin  began  to 
twitter  among  the  pink  blossoms  of  an  apple-tree.  One 
of  these  blossoms  touched  the  happy  lover  as  he  passed. 
He  closed  his  eyes,  and  for  a  moment  pressed  it  to  his  lips. 
A  dreamless  sleep  followed;  and  immediately  after 
breakfast  he  wrote  the  following  letter,  the  composition 
of  which  was  rendered  easy  to  him  by  the  austere  sim- 
plicity of  his  mind,  and  sent  it  off  by  messenger  to  Lady 
Susannah  Lipscombe: 

227 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

"DEAR  LADY  SUSANNAH, — In  accordance  with  what  you  told 
me,  I  remained  yesterday  with  your  niece  for  a  very  short  time 
only;  but,  short  as  the  interview  was,  there  is  something  which 
I  must  tell  you  with  regard  to  it.  I  must  begin  at  the  beginning, 
and  describe  to  you  just  what  happened.  For  the  first  five 
minutes  or  so  she  seemed  nervous  and  restless.  Thinking,  in- 
deed, that  she  was  perhaps  hardly  equal  to  the  effort  of  con- 
versation, I  was  at  last  on  the  point  of  getting  up  and  going, 
when  her  nervousness  and  restlessness  seemed  all  at  once  to 
leave  her.  There  she  was,  her  natural  sober  self.  It  had  been 
my  intention  to  say  to  her,  had  I  found  her  in  a  mood  to  listen, 
something  about  those  sacred  matters  to  which — I  am  specially 
anxious  to  impress  the  following  fact  on  your  notice — every  con- 
versation of  mine  with  her  has,  on  such  occasions,  been  con- 
fined. Events,  however,  yesterday  afternoon  brought  a  certain 
topic  forward  to  which  neither  of  us  had  ever  alluded  on  any 
former  occasion,  and  I  wish  as  to  this  point  to  speak  to  you 
without  delay.  I  wonder,  Lady  Susannah,  if  I  shall  surprise 
you? 

"  The  character  of  your  niece  is  so  pure,  so  simple,  so  full  of  the 
spirit  of  religion  that  it  made,  from  the  beginning  of  my  ac- 
quaintance with  her,  a  very  deep  impression  on  me.  Will  you, 
then,  be  very  much  surprised  if  I  tell  you  that  I  have  come  to 
love  her?  I  have  never  been  in  love  with  any  one — girl  or 
woman — before,  and  so,  I  suppose,  I  did  not  know  what  was 
happening  to  me.  If  I  had  I  would  have  spoken  to  you  earlier, 
for  I  would  never  have  entered  your  house  knowingly  under 
false  pretences. 

"  Well,  yesterday,  by  the  merest  accident,  with  no  premedita- 
tion on  her  part,  and  with  no  expectation  of  such  an  event  on 
mine,  she  made  me  aware  that  she  entertained  for  me  some  feel- 
ing not  unlike  that  which  had  grown  up  in  me  for  her.  Then  I 
for  the  first  time — yes,  Lady  Susannah,  then  for  the  very  first 
time — understood  myself.  It  was  all  done  in  a  moment.  I  did 
not  stay  long.  I  think  I  left  her  happy.  But  if  she  should 
regret  anything — if  she  should  be  in  any  doubt — let  it  all  be  as 
though  it  never  had  been.  As  to  myself,  I  have  fair  private 
means,  and  as  to  my  family  connections,  I  believe  that  you 
would  consider  them  respectable.  I  am,  in  all  honesty  and 
candor,  yours,  THEOPHILUS  BARTON." 

Having  despatched  this  letter,  with  instructions  to  the 
messenger  not  to  wait  for  an  answer,  Mr.  Barton  tried 
to  devote  himself  to  the  examination  of  some  parish 

228 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

accounts;  but  his  efforts  were  unavailing,  and  he  was 
losing  himself  in  a  lover's  dream,  when  his  maid-servant 
burst  into  the  room  and  said,  presenting  him  with  a 
card: 

"The  gentleman,  sir,  he  wishes  to  see  you  most  par- 
ticular." 

The  card  was  the  card  of  Dr.  Thistlewood — of  the  un- 
clean and  blatant  cynic  for  whom  the  purest  of  women 
was  "a  cup  to  be  drunk  from  and  thrown  away."  Mr. 
Barton's  eyebrows  met  together  in  a  menacing  frown, 
and  he  was  about  to  say,  "Tell  him  that  I  can  see  no- 
body," when  it  suddenly  struck  him  that  this  visit,  at 
an  hour  so  unusual,  might  possibly  be  connected  with 
the  occurrence  of  some  fresh  case  of  illness.  He  ac- 
cordingly composed  his  countenance,  and  replied: 

"Show  the  gentleman  in." 

"  I  trust,"  he  began  at  once,  in  a  tone  of  cold  anxiety, 
as  though  he  were  addressing  his  visitor  across  some  im- 
passable gulf — "I  trust  that  there  has  been  no  fresh 
outbreak?" 

Dr.  Thistlewood  greeted  him  with  an  easy  but  grave 
courtesy  which,  against  Mr.  Barton's  will,  did  something 
to  disarm  his  anger. 

"No,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood.  "If  you  mean  our  poor 
friends  in  the  cottages,  I  have  no  bad  news  whatever; 
but  if  you  could  kindly  spare  me  a  few  moments,  I  do 
want  to  consult  you  about  the  health  of  one  of  your 
parishioners,  on  whose  present  condition  you  might,  I 
think,  throw  some  light." 

"I'm  a  busy  man,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  still  frigid,  "but 
if  there's  any  information  which  I  can  suitably  give  you 
I  will  do  so.  Pray  sit  down,  and  permit  me  to  take  your 
hat." 

"I  have,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  speaking  with  a  lei- 
surely seriousness,  "come  here  on  behalf  of  a  friend  of 
yours — Lady  Susannah  Lipscombe.  The  matter  has  its 
own  importance.  I  have  only  this  moment  left  her." 

Mr.  Barton   felt,   as   he  heard  this  unexpected  an- 
229 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

nouncement,  that  ice-cold  drops  of  perspiration  were 
creeping  out  on  his  forehead.  Could  Lady  Susannah, 
before  his  letter  had  reached  her,  have  learned  and  been 
indignant  at  what  had  occurred  yesterday?  And  had 
this  godless  doctor  been  sent  to  take  him  to  task  for  it  ? 
Or  was  she — his  beloved  one — worse?  Could  it  be  that 
she  was  dead  or  dying?  Had  happiness  been  too  much 
for  her?" 

"I  trust,"  he  stammered,  "that  there  is  nothing  wrong 
— wrong  at  Cliff's  End — with  any  one?" 

"If  by  anything  being  wrong,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood, 
"you  mean  anybody's  life  being  in  danger,  I  can  set 
your  mind  at  rest.  Nobody  at  Cliff's  End  is  in  any  dan- 
ger whatever.  You  know,  however,  that  Miss  Vivian — 
a  highly  nervous  subject — was  upset  the  other  night  by 
the  thunder-storm.  Certain  after-effects  of  that  slight 
jar  still  continue,  and  if  we  desire  to  get  rid  of  them 
quickly  we  ought,  in  a  case  like  this,  to  acquaint  our- 
selves with  even  her  slightest  symptoms.  And  now, 
Mr.  Barton,  before  I  go  farther,  let  me  explain  to  you 
that  Miss  Vivian's  parents,  by  the  advice  of  my  old 
friend  Dr.  Gonteau — Miss  Vivian's  former  physician — 
have  telegraphed  from  Nice  to  request  that  she  may  be 
placed  under  my  own  care.  Their  request,  supple- 
mented by  Lady  Susannah's,  must  form  my  apology  for 
intruding  on  you.  And  so  let  us  get  to  business.  You 
were  yourself,  as  Lady  Susannah  tells  me,  the  last,  and 
indeed  the  only  visitor  whom  Miss  Vivian  has  seen  since 
this  little  indisposition  of  hers;  and  I  have  accordingly 
come,  with  Lady  Susannah's  sanction,  to  ask  in  what 
way  she  struck  you.  Did  you  notice  that  there  was  in 
her  conversation  anything  odd  or  unusual?" 

Having  been  cold  a  moment  ago,  Mr.  Barton  now 
grew  hot.  "You  place  me,  sir,"  he  said,  stiffly,  "in  a 
position  of  some  embarrassment.  You  may,  perhaps,  be 
aware  that  my  intimacy  with  the  young  lady  in  ques- 
tion originated  in  my  having  been  called  upon  to  in- 
struct her  with  regard  to  religious  matters.  Most  of  my 

230 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

conversation  with  her  has  been  systematically  confined 
to  these;  and  conversation  of  that  kind  I  am  bound  to 
regard  as  private." 

"Of  course,  of  course,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood.  "I 
have,  as  a  doctor,  been  associated  with  as  many  priests 
as  laymen.  I  understand  your  position,  and  I  respect 
it.  But  the  questions  I  want  to  put  to  you  have  no 
reference  whatever  to  anything  which  Miss  Vivian  may 
have  said  to  you  of  a  sacred  or  even  a  confidential  char- 
acter. What  I  want  to  ask  you  about  is  only  such 
ordinary  and  casual  observations  as  are  bound  to  occur 
here  and  there  in  the  course  of  the  most  serious  inter- 
views. Here's  an  example.  I  once  learned  something 
extremely  useful  about  a  patient  from  being  told  that, 
in  the  middle  of  a  conversation — I  don't  know  what 
about,  and  I  never  asked  with  whom — she  had  com- 
plained of  the  coldness  of  the  room  when  the  tempera- 
ture was  really  eighty.  In  the  present  case,  what  I  am 
anxious  to  know  is  whether,  when  the  young  lady  was 
referring  to  ordinary  matters,  you  happened  to  notice 
in  her  any  straying  of  attention,  or  any  tendency,  after 
her  long  sleep,  to  confuse  the  order  in  which  recent 
events  had  happened." 

"Oh,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  in  a  tone  of  great  relief,  "is 
that  the  sort  of  thing  you  mean  ?  I  beg  your  pardon  if 
at  first  I  answered  you  rather  cavalierly.  Yes,  do  you 
know,  now  you  mention  it,  I  did  notice  something  of  the 
very  kind  you  refer  to.  She  seemed  to  think  that  my 
last  private  visit  to  her  for  the  purpose  of  talking  about 
confirmation,  which  was  really  some  days  before,  had 
occurred — I  couldn't  quite  tell  when,  but  very  lately, 
very  lately  indeed." 

"May  I  ask,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "how  she  con- 
veyed this  impression  to  you  ?" 

"Well,  "replied  Mr.  Barton,  "instead  of  speaking  about 
my  having  called  again,  she  spoke  about  my  having  come 
back,  which  is  the  sort  of  thing  she  might  have  done  had 
I  only  just  left  the  house." 

231 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

Dr.  Thistlewood  nodded.  " Quite  so,"  he  said,  "quite 
so.  Was  there  anything  else  you  noticed  at  all  of  the 
same  kind?" 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  reflecting.  "I  don't  think 
there  was  much  else.  She  said,  by-the-way,  that  when 
I  was  there  last  everybody  had  seen  me  go.  Now  that 
wasn't  true.  Perhaps  she  was  thinking  of  the  day  when 
you  and  I  met  at  tea  there."  Mr.  Barton,  realizing  that 
the  catechism  was  quite  innocuous,  was  beginning  to 
find  an  excuse  for  talking  about  Miss  Vivian  pleasant. 
He  set  himself  to  reflect  further.  "Well,"  he  said, 
actually  allowing  himself  to  smile,  "that's  a  puzzler. 
And — oh  yes,  now  I  think  of  it,  there  were  one  or  two 
little  odd  things  more.  She  asked  me  if  I  had  come 
back  through  the  conservatory." 

"Ah!"  Dr.  Thistlewood  exclaimed,  looking  up  rather 
sharply.  "  Is  there  a  conservatory  at  Cliff's  End  through 
which  visitors  often  enter?" 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  as  though  proud  of  Miss 
Vivian's  fancy,  "that's  just  where  the  oddness  comes  in. 
Then,  too,  there  was  another  thing,  though  I  don't  know 
if  it  comes  to  much.  She  happened  to  quote  something 
from  a  little  book  by  myself;  and  she  used  a  phrase 
which  might — yes,  which  certainly  might,  show  that  her 
mind  had  a  momentary  tendency  to  stray.  She  quoted 
my  book,  saying  to  me:  'That's  what  Mr.  Barton  tells 
us.'  This  might,  of  course,  have  been  merely  a  sort  of 
friendly  playfulness;  but  it  may,  on  the  other  hand, 
have  meant  that,  her  mind  for  the  moment  being  absorb- 
ed by  the  substance  of  the  book,  she  failed  for  just  the 
passing  moment  to  realize  that  she  was  talking  to  the 
author." 

"Well,  Mr.  Barton,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  preparing 
to  rise,  "I'm  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  your  infor- 
mation. It's  precisely  little  symptoms  like  these  which 
help  us  in  a  case  like  this  to  see  how  much  and  what 
kind  of  nervous  disturbance  tends  to  persist  in  a  patient 
even  after  the  medicine  of  a  good  long  sleep,  and  how 

232 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

most  expeditiously  we  may  help  her  to  get  rid  of  the 
remains  of  it." 

"And  now,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  "may  I  ask  you  a  ques- 
tion in  return  ?  Miss  Vivian  is  no  worse,  is  she,  than  she 
was  when  I  saw  her  yesterday?  My  own  little  visit,  I 
trust,  did  not  unduly  tire  her." 

"  As  to  the  general  future  of  Miss  Vivian's  health,"  said 
Dr.  Thistlewood,  "there  is,  let  me  assure  you,  no  danger 
of  any  kind;  but  we  mustn't  let  her  waste  her  youth  in 
being  ill  longer  than  necessary.  For  some  days  she  must 
be  kept  perfectly  quiet ;  and,  though  her  friends,  secular 
and  spiritual,  will  no  doubt  miss  her  company,  they  need 
feel  no  anxiety  about  herself." 

Mr.  Barton,  when  Dr.  Thistlewood  had  gone,  felt  him- 
self, on  the  whole,  not  displeased  with  this  interview. 
His  beloved  one  had  not  suffered  from  the  agitations  of 
yesterday,  and  if  it  were  necessary  that  she  should  re- 
main quiet  for  a  day  or  two,  he  felt  that  he  could  bear, 
and  indeed  welcome,  the  interval  as  enabling  him  to  dis- 
cuss with  her  aunt  the  practical  details  of  the  situation. 
He  hardly  dreaded  a  rebuff  on  Lady  Susannah's  part, 
but  there  might  be  minor  difficulties.  These  should  be 
got  over.  Nothing  in  the  world  should  baffle  him;  but 
he,  nevertheless,  was  racked  by  anxiety  till  the  evening, 
when  Lady  Susannah's  answer  was  at  last  put  into  his 
hands.  The  first  words  of  it  were  sufficient  to  elicit  from 
him  a  sigh  of  relief.  She  wrote: 

"MY  DEAR  MR.  BARTON, — I  quite  understand  how  things 
have  happened.  I  have  always  myself  approved  of  clergymen 
marrying.  I  have  several  clergymen  cousins,  and  they  all  have 
very  nice  wives.  You  deserve  one  just  as  nice,  and  I  should 
like  to  think  that  you  had  found  one  by  my  means.  Also  I 
could  wish  nothing  better  for  Nest  than  a  husband  who  would 
make  her  happy." 

Mr.  Barton,  who  received  this  just  as  he  was  beginning 
his  dinner,  laid  the  letter  down  as  soon  as  he  had  got 
thus  far,  and  with  unexpected  appetite  swallowed  some 
lentil  soup.  Then  he  resumed  his  reading. 

233 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

"There  are,  however,  several  reasons  why  happiness  would 
be  very  doubtful  for  you.  I  ought  to  tell  you  plainly,  for  one 
thing,  that  this  poor  child's  parentage  is  most  unfortunate.  Her 
father — I  will,  Mr.  Barton,  give  you  confidence  for  confidence, 
and  tell  you  that  in  early  days  it  was  once  possible  that  I  might 
have  married  him — her  father  is  under  a  cloud,  and  cannot 
show  his  face  in  England;  and  the  lady  whom  he  did  marry  is  a 
divorcee,  with  a  husband  living.  But  there  are  other  difficulties, 
quite  apart  from  all  this,  relating  to  dear  Nest  herself,  and  these 
may,  I  fear,  prove  a  yet  greater  obstacle  to  your  wishes. 

"  Dr.  Thistlewood,  who  knows  nothing  about  what  you  tell 
me,  said  to  me  only  this  morning,  '  If  she  were  but  as  strong 
now  as  I  hope  we  shall  see  her  some  day,  a  reasonably  happy 
marriage  would  probably  be  the  best  thing  for  her;  but  she 
hasn't  enough  stability  yet.  as  she  and  her  husband,  if  she  had 
one,  would  both  discover  to  their  cost.  Let  her  wait  three 
years,'  he  said.  'Things  will  be  different  then;  and  even  then 
she'll  be  no  more  than  a  girl.'  He's  seen  her  again  this  after- 
noon, and  he's  coming  again  to-morrow  morning.  By  the  mid- 
dle of  the  day  I  shall  be  able  to  tell  you  more;  and  if  I  can  hold 
out  to  you  any  immediate  hope,  I  will.  But  if  you  are  serious 
in  the  matter,  you  must  be  very,  very  patient.  And  you  must, 
if  you  please,  remember  her  unfortunate  connections.  Nothing 
can  alter  these." 

The  first  effect  on  Mr.  Barton  of  this  concluding  por- 
tion of  the  letter  was  like  that  of  a  physical  blow,  but  a 
second  reading  of  it  roused  rather  than  discouraged  him. 
Starting  from  the  table  he  dashed  off  a  hasty  note,  telling 
his  servant  that  somebody  must  take  it  to  Cliff's  End 
forthwith.  He  wrote: 

"  If  I  have  to  wait,  I  will  wait  as  Jacob  waited;  but  no  external 
circumstances,  however  unfortunate,  would  for  me  be  any  obsta- 
cle— hardly  even  a  drawback.  I  shall  look  out  with  impatience 
for  your  promised  letter  to-morrow;  but  do  not  think  that  I 
resign  or  even  lessen  my  hopes." 

The  letter  did  not  arrive  till  late  the  following  after- 
noon. It  ran: 

"DEAR  MR.  BARTON,  —  I  could  not  write  to  you  earlier,  for 
this  morning  things  seemed  so  doubtful,  and  we  have  had  a  very 
busy  day.  Nest's  condition  has  turned  out  to  be  such  that  Dr. 
Thistlewood  is — I  won't  say  alarmed,  for  there's  no  question  of 

234 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

danger,  it's  only  a  question  of  time.  But  unless  she  was  to  run 
the  risk  of  being  laid  up  for  many  months,  he  insisted  that  she 
ought  instantly  to  be  removed  to  new  surroundings  and  kept 
absolutely  quiet.  Her  father  has  telegraphed  his  most  em- 
phatic concurrence.  None  of  her  friends  are  to  see  her  or  even 
know  where  she  is.  Dr.  Thistlewood  was  to  manage  everything. 
Nest  left  us  at  two  o'clock  to-day.  She  was  not  looking  ill — 
merely  languid  and  acquiescent.  Everything  was  arranged 
beautifully — nurses,  reserved  compartment,  and  so  on.  For  to- 
night— I  may  tell  you  this — she  is  to  be  at  a  home  of  rest  be- 
longing to  Dr.  Thistlewood  in  Gloucestershire;  but  her  parents 
have  expressly  desired  that,  until  she  is  quite  well,  her  sub- 
sequent whereabouts  shall  not  be  communicated  to  anybody. 
There  is  every  prospect  of  our  having  her  back  in  a  month  or 
so.  Please  be  patient  till  then. 

"  In  order  that  you  may  not  worry  yourself  more  than  the 
occasion  requires,  I  may  as  well  tell  you  that  something  of  this 
kind  was  foreseen  by  Nest's  parents  as  a  possible  occurrence 
from  the  first.  If  Nest's  health  ever  made  it  desirable  that  she 
should  leave  me,  I  promised  that,  during  her  absence,  I  would 
take  in  Enid  Wynn  —  the  other  one,  the  half-sister.  Indeed, 
all  the  winter  there  have  been  boxes  of  Enid's  clothes  locked 
up  in  a  cupboard,  so  as  to  be  ready  for  her  in  case  she  came. 
This  young  person  will  probably  arrive  next  week.  When  I 
think  of  what  I  suspect  to  be  her  history — though  it's  not  her 
fault — I  confess  I  feel  rather  nervous.  One  thing,  Mr.  Barton, 
without  betraying  any  confidences — for  I  have  received  none — 
I  may  say  to  you,  by  way  of  a  hint.  Since  such  a  point  is  made 
of  keeping  these  two  girls  apart,  it  seems  likely  that  Nest  is, 
for  a  time,  going  back  to  her  parents.  Hence  the  anxiety  that 
Enid  shall  be  safe  in  my  charge  first.  I  would  therefore  sug- 
gest that,  if  you  want  to  learn  anything  about  Nest  more  than 
I  have  been  able  to  tell  you,  you  should  apply,  not  to  me,  but 
to  her  father,  Captain  Rhys  Wynn  Vivian,  Villa  Orloff,  Cimiez, 
Nice. 

"  Any  day  you  like  to  call  I  shall,  of  course,  be  delighted  to  see 
you.  Meanwhile,  don't  make  too  much  of  a  malady  which, 
however  we  may  deplore  it,  would  be  only  serious  if  it  were 
neglected.  Don't  be  angry  with  the  plain  speaking  of  one  who 
may,  after  all,  some  day  call  herself  your  relation. 

"SUSANNAH  LIPSCOMBE." 

16 


BOOK    III 


CHAPTER  I 

MR.  BARTON  was  stupefied  by  this  hardly  credible 
news,  and  the  kindly  and  equable  tone  in  which 
Lady  Susannah  communicated  it  merely  made  matters 
worse.  Such  a  tone,  no  doubt,  might  have  done  much  to 
relieve  him  had  he  really  felt  serious  alarm  with  regard 
to  Miss  Vivian's  health,  but  he  did  not.  Convinced  as 
he  was  by  the  language  of  Dr.  Thistlewood  himself  that 
her  general  health  was  in  no  danger  whatever,  he  ac- 
cepted her  present  condition,  whatever  might  be  the 
medical  name  for  it,  as  a  sad,  a  pathetic,  but  merely  pass- 
ing infirmity;  and  the  manner  in  which  her  weakness 
had  sought  his  strength,  and  had  thus  in  a  moment  re- 
vealed two  souls  to  each  other,  had  opened  his  eyes  to 
the  direction  in  which  the  true  remedy  lay.  His  support 
would  do  more  for  her  than  the  treatment  of  any  doctor, 
and  the  plea  that  she  required  a  rest-cure  which  neces- 
sitated her  immediate  removal — as  though  rest  were  im- 
possible in  the  quietude  of  her  aunt's  home — was  merely 
an  excuse  for  removing  her  from  his  own  influence. 

Thus  did  he  begin  to  reason  with  a  morbid  and  self- 
tormenting  ingenuity,  till  he  became  in  his  own  eyes 
the  victim  of  some  monstrous  plot,  which  was  directed 
against  Miss  Vivian  also.  Who  was  the  prime  mover  in 
it  was  beyond  his  consistent  guessing.  Could  it  be  Sir 
Rawlin  Stantor?  And  was  Dr.  Thistlewood  in  league 
with  him  for  some  infamous  purpose?  Or  could  it  be 
the  girl's  parents,  who  perhaps  looked  on  Mr.  Barton 
as  no  fit  match  for  their  daughter  ?  And  was  Lady  Susan- 
nah really  in  secret  league  with  them?  This  last  ques- 
tion, as  soon  as  he  caught  himself  asking  it,  did  some- 

239 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

thing  to  sober  him  by  showing  him  its  own  absurdity. 
And  yet  could  he,  that  same  evening,  have  been  a  hidden 
listener  in  the  dining-room  at  Cliff's  End,  and  heard  how 
lightly  the  girl's  departure  was  discussed  by  her  own 
relations,  there  were  no  suspicions  so  fantastic  in  their 
bitterness  that  they  might  not  have  found  harbor  in 
his  mind  and  interpreted  the  whole  course  of  the  con- 
versation as  an  implied  mockery  of  himself. 

Mr.  Carlton  would,  in  that  case,  have  figured  as  the 
first  offender. 

"Well,  my  dear  Susie,"  he  said,  looking  up  from  his 
soup,  "in  our  young  days  little  girls  with  attacks  of 
nerves  weren't  humored  as  they  are  to-day.  If  they 
ventured  to  be  fanciful  they  were  locked  up  in  the 
school-room — you  remember  the  martial  law  of  Duchess 
Fanny  at  Collingham — and  they  had  to  eat  cold  rice- 
pudding  off  the  nursery  governess's  writing-table.  Poor 
little  Nest — I'm  sure  to  lose  her  is  like  losing  a  bowl  of 
flowers.  And  if  she's  coddled  it's  no  fault  of  her  own. 
But  I  can't  help  thinking  that  parents  in  the  present 
generation  make  some  maladies  worse  by  paying  too 
much  attention  to  them." 

"I'm  afraid,"  said  Lady  Susannah,  "that  in  Nest's 
case  there's  something  rather  more  than  fancy.  Any- 
how, though  I'm  sorry  to  lose  her  for  even  a  few  weeks, 
I'm  glad  to  think  that  her  parents  and  a  great  physician 
like  Dr.  Thistlewood  have  taken  the  responsibility  off 
my  hands.  Dr.  Thistlewood  is  really  a  wonderful  man. 
That  nurse,  v/ho  is  one  of  his  staff — she  arrived  at  Lord 
Cotswold's  yesterday,  as  if  by  magic — is  a  thoroughly 
superior  woman.  I  gave  her  tea  in  my  boudoir." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Carlton,  "I  caught  a  glimpse  of  her 
in  the  hall — a  sensible,  sober  person.  It  was  quite  re- 
freshing to  see  her — so  different  from  those  trolloping 
females — too  dreadful,  I  call  them — you  know  the  mod- 
ern nurse.  At  Easton,  the  other  day,  there  were  two  of 
them  looking  after  poor  dear  Caroline,  and  when  they  were 
off  duty — this  is  a  literal  fact — they  used  to  go  flaunt- 

240 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

ing  arm-in-arm  together  along  the  corridor — giggling, 
my  dear,  giggling  quite  out  loud.  If  my  dearest 
mother  could  have  seen  it  I  think  she  would  have  had 
a  fit.  It's  a  comfort  to  think  that  Nest  has  got  some- 
body of  the  proper  sort.  Her  parents  are  so  right,  if 
she's  got  to  have  a  rest-cure  at  all,  in  sending  her  off  like 
this  under  sealed  orders.  But  the  person,  my  dear 
Susie,  whom  I  look  upon  as  the  best  person  of  all  is 
yourself.  It's  so  good  of  you,  while  Nest's  away,  to 
take  in  the  other  young  person — and  at  a  moment's 
notice,  too.  You  haven't,  I  suppose,  heard  yet  on  what 
day  you're  to  expect  her?" 

"No,"  said  Lady  Susannah,  with  a  look  of  half-hu- 
morous resignation.  "Here  again  I  have  had  to  leave 
myself  in  Dr.  Thistlewood's  hands.  He's  going  to  Mal- 
vern  to-morrow  to  finish  his  arrangements  about  Nest. 
My  own  impression  is  that  her  parents  will  want  to  have 
her  near  them — perhaps  under  the  care  of  Dr.  Gonteau, 
her  old  doctor — where  she  won't  have  anything  to  re- 
mind her  of  that  dreadful  thunder-storm.  Anyhow,  Dr. 
Thistlewood  will  see  that  the  best  is  done  for  her.  And 
as  for  Enid,  if  he  finds  when  he  gets  to  Malvern  that  she 
is,  as  he  expects,  on  her  way  to  England  already,  he'll 
try  to  meet  her  in  London,  or  else  at  Bristol,  and  bring 
her  back  with  him." 

Oswald  and  Mr.  Hugo  had  been  listening  with  con- 
siderable interest.  Both  the  diplomat  and  the  man  of 
science,  having  in  their  several  ways  secretly  suffered 
from  Miss  Vivian's  disregard  of  their  sentiments,  felt 
that  the  temporary  loss  of  her  might  prove  to  be  a 
blessing  in  disguise,  by  bringing  them  another  young 
lady  who  would  possibly  be  more  appreciative.  Oswald 
judged  that  the  dignity  recently  achieved  by  him  of 
having  his  life  blighted  by  a  passion  for  a  married  wom- 
an would  greatly  enhance  his  attractions  in  the  eyes  of 
an  unmarried  girl;  and  as  for  Mr.  Hugo,  he  had  been 
preparing  himself  for  his  new  cousin  by  dismissing  her 
sister's  malady  as  a  mere  piece  of  nervous  silliness. 

241 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

"Enid,"  he  said,  solemnly,  as  soon  as  Lady  Susannah 
had  come  to  an  end  of  her  information,  "is  a  very  sen- 
sible name." 

"Yes,"  said  Oswald,  in  a  tone  of  condescending  ban- 
ter. "It  begins  with  the  same  sacred  letter  as  Elvira." 

Oswald,  having  received  that  morning  a  letter  from 
Lady  Con  way,  was  in  that  happy  condition  which  prompts 
successful  lovers  to  regard  the  loves  of  others  as  the  ob- 
jects of  a  placid  merriment.  Mr.  Hugo  scowled  and  pre- 
tended to  read  the  menu. 

"Mr.  Hugo,"  said  Miss  Arundel,  "why  are  you  making 
such  an  exceedingly  fractious  face?  There's  a  melon 
coming.  I  ordered  it  this  morning  on  purpose  to  make 
you  good,  and  it  cost  elevenpence  halfpenny." 

Miss  Arundel  had  once  studied  for  three  months  at  a 
cookery  school,  and  prided  herself  on  the  ingenious 
economy  with  which  she  managed  to  feed  her  kindred. 
For  this  reason,  as  Sir  Rawlin  Stantor  had  divined,  she 
was  the  frequent  butt  of  her  brothers,  who,  forgetting 
their  feud,  now  joined  in  an  attack  on  her. 

"  Nest,"  began  Mr.  Hugo,  "even  if  she  is  not  very  wise, 
could  at  all  events  do  one  thing.  She  could  write  a 
menu  fit  for  a  gentleman  to  read.  When  I  have  a  house 
of  my  own,"  Mr.  Hugo  continued,  his  prospective  income 
being  four  hundred  a  year,  "I  shall  have  a  servant 
specially  to  look  after  things  like  that." 

"A  menu  of  Nina's,"  said  Oswald,  "is  like  a  series 
of  dish-covers,  which  conceal,  instead  of  revealing,  the 
nature  of  what  we're  going  to  eat.  Look  here,  Cousin 
George,  let  me  just  read  you  this:  '  Soup — fish — minced 
meat  in  shells.'  What  comes  next?  I  suppose  it  will 
be:  'Skin — bones.'  My  dear  Nina,  you  had  much  better 
do  it  in  French.  'Pure"e  anonyme — poisson,  bon  marche 
— Petits  ddbris  de  quelquechose — Morceaux  assortis,  a 
la  chat.'  Do  you  know,  Cousin  George,  I'm  always 
telling  Nina  that  if  one  day  her  heart  is  cut  open  like 
Queen  Mary's,  we  sha'n't  find  Calais  written  on  it — we 
shall  find  'Keep  down  the  house  books.'" 

242 


AN    IMMORTAL    SOUL 

"And  if  Oswald's  heart  is  cut  open,"  said  Mr.  Hugo, 
who  had  only  deferred  his  revenge,  and  whose  repartees 
were  simple  and  rather  pointed,  "what  we  shall  find  there 
will  be:  'Lady  Con  way.'" 

"Come,  come,"  said  Lady  Susannah,  "don't  you  two 
boys  talk  nonsense.  What  would  your  cousin  Enid 
think  if  she  heard  you  sparring  like  this?" 

"Yes,"  Mr.  Carlton  continued,  hastening  to  improve 
the  occasion,  "and  that  reminds  me  there's  another 
thing  which  your  aunt  Susie  was  going  to  tell  you.  The 
parents  of  your  cousins  won't  say  how  or  why — so  right 
they  are;  I  wish  there  were  more  like  them — but  be- 
tween these  girls  some  one  has  made  mischief.  Well, 
don't,  if  you  can  avoid  it,  talk  about  Nest  to  Enid,  or 
even  let  out  that's  she's  been  here.  Enid,  apparently, 
has  no  suspicion  of  the  fact,  so  you  two  young  men  be 
discreet,  and  don't  run  the  risk  of  stirring  up  unpleasant 
feelings  by  alluding  to  it.  I  can  trust  to  Oswald's  tact; 
but  I  should  not  feel  quite  sure  of  Hugo  if  he  weren't  so 
old  for  his  years.  Men  of  science  wouldn't  have  been 
burned  and  imprisoned  if  they  hadn't  said  things  which 
they'd  better  have  kept  to  themselves." 

Mr.  Hugo's  baby  countenance  acknowledged  this  com- 
pliment with  smiles. 

"I  think,"  he  replied,  "I  can  promise,  about  a  minor 
matter  like  this,  to  be  less  outspoken  than  Galileo.  Nina, 
I  should  like  some  melon." 

Mr.  Barton  at  this  moment  was  beginning  the  com- 
position of  a  letter,  which  Lady  Susannah  received  the 
following  morning.  He  wrote: 

"Your  news  has  so  astonished  me  that  I  can  hardly  take  it 
in.  You,  personally,  I  gather,  have  had  no  voice  in  the  matter; 
you  have  not  suggested  her  removal  as  a  means  of  separating 
her  from  me.  I  sincerely  believe  you  to  be  my  friend.  But  I 
will  not  weary  you  with  what  I  feel  on  my  own  account;  this 
would  perhaps  not  mean  much  to  you.  I  will  speak  only  about 
a  trouble  which  you  yourself  will  share  with  me.  I  refer  to  her 
coming  confirmation  and  her  first  communion,  for  which  she 

243 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

was  so  carefully  preparing  herself.  She  was  coming  to  our 
Lord  with  the  heart  of  an  untainted  child.  And  now,  if  I  may 
judge  from  what  you  yourself  have  so  emphatically  told  me,  she 
has  been  placed  out  of  reach  of  any  religious  guidance  what- 
soever; the  means  of  grace  have  been  literally  snatched  away 
from  her;  and  at  this  very  moment,  according  to  your  own  show- 
ing, one  or  other  of  two  things  will  be  happening  to  her.  She 
will  either  be  under  the  care  of  parents  who,  although  they  are 
legally  married,  are,  as  you  and  I  know,  living  in  a  state  of  dead- 
ly sin,  and  are  desecrating  a  most  holy  sacrament  in  the  entire 
conduct  of  their  lives,  or  else,  if  she  is  taken  elsewhere,  under 
whose  care  will  she  be?  She  will  be  under  the  care  of  the  de- 
pendents of  a  sceptical  doctor,  who  does  not  perhaps  deny  that 
a  soul  exists,  but  for  whom  our  faith  means  nothing,  because 
he  has  closed  his  eyes  to  it,  and,  like  all  such  men,  hates  it  in 
his  heart  of  hearts.  The  atmosphere  of  open  sin  is  hardly  so 
deadly  for  the  young  conscience  as  this  atmosphere  of  cynical 
indifference.  Think,  Lady  Susannah  —  think!  A  human  soul 
committed  to  our  joint  care — what  can  you  or  I  ever  give  in  ex- 
change for  it  ?  And  what  good  reason,  I  ask  you,  is  there  for 
this  removal  ?  So  far  as  I  can  see,  none.  On  Dr.  Thistlewood's 
own  admission — for  he  spoke  to  me  about  the  matter  personal- 
ly—  her  present  indisposition  is  not  even  remotely  dangerous. 
There  must  be  some  other  reason  in  the  background.  Cannot 
you  suggest  to  me  what  it  is  ?  Does  Dr.  Thistlewood,  in  the  in- 
terest of  her  parents,  or  perhaps  of  some  other  persons,  desire 
to  come  between  us  ?  Or  is  there — for  such  things  have  been — 
any  darker  plot?  But  I  won't  ask  that.  I  hardly  know  what 
I  write  or  think.  Dear  Lady  Susannah,  you  are  a  good  woman, 
and  I  believe  you  to  be  my  kind  friend.  I  will  trouble  you  with 
no  more  questions  till  I  have  seen  Dr.  Thistlewood  himself.  I 
shall  go  to  him  to-morrow  morning,  and  if  I  can  extort  from  him 
no  satisfactory  answer,  I  will  throw  myself  on  your  goodness 
and  ask  you  to  give  me  what  help  you  can.  You  can  surely  do, 
or  at  all  events  tell  me,  something.  Yours, 

"THEOPHILUS  BARTON." 

True  to  the  resolution  expressed  at  the  close  of  this 
painful  letter,  Mr.  Barton,  at  an  early  hour  next  morning, 
despatched  a  note  to  Dr.  Thistlewood,  in  which  he  begged 
for  an  immediate  interview  with  him  about  business  of 
the  utmost  moment. 

But  a  message  was  brought  back  to  him  to  the  effect 
that  Dr.  Thistlewood  was  away  and  would  not  return 

244 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

till  to-morrow  or  the  day  following.  Thus,  condemned 
to  all  the  agonies  of  suspense,  he  would  have  written 
again  to  Lady  Susannah,  or  would  have  called  on  her, 
if  he  had  not  been  withheld  by  a  sort  of  tragic  shyness. 
He  believed  that  he  had  her  sympathy,  but  he  did  not 
know  how  completely;  and  her  sympathy,  if  lukewarm, 
would  wound  him  far  more  than  her  antagonism. 

That  day,  in  any  case,  had  he  seen  her,  she  could  have 
told  him  nothing.  Next  morning,  however,  a  letter 
from  Dr.  Thistlewood  reached  her,  which  produced  an 
immediate  excitement  among  the  whole  of  the  Cliff's 
End  household.  He  wrote: 

"  All  our  arrangements  for  your  invalid  have  been  carried  out 
most  satisfactorily.  You  may  be  assured  that  she  will  be  under 
care  as  affectionate  and  judicious  as  your  own.  Her  sister, 
your  new  visitor,  will  be  at  Malvern  to-morrow.  She  will  spend 
the  night  there  under  the  charge  of  Mrs.  Grey,  my  matron — 
partly  for  the  sake  of  rest,  and  partly  for  the  sake  of  something 
which  young  ladies,  when  they  don't  want  rest-cures,  think  even 
more  important.  Both  these  sisters,  it  seems,  are  equally  par- 
ticular about  their  clothes.  Miss  Enid  comes  trusting  in  those 
boxes  which  are  lying  at  Cliff's  End  ready  for  her.  Among 
these  boxes  is  a  small  one  covered  with  green  canvas,  and  con- 
taining, as  I  gather,  a  travelling-dress  and  I  know  not  what  be- 
sides. Pray  send  this  by  the  first  possible  train,  addressed  to 
Mrs.  Grey's  care.  The  young  lady,  I  take  it,  will  refuse  to  ap- 
pear among  you  until  she  is  in  a  position  to  make  a  suitable  first 
impression;  and  she  has  nothing  with  her  which  she  considers 
entirely  suitable.  She's  quite  accustomed  to  travelling,  having 
been  in  England,  Scotland,  and  Egypt.  Still,  I  will  wait  and 
come  down  with  her,  and  bring  her  with  me  to  your  own  door. 
And  here  let  me  take  the  opportunity  of  making  a  small  practical 
suggestion  to  you.  I  have  already  begged  that,  for  the  sake  of 
peace  and  quietness,  you  will  advise  your  own  family  to  say 
nothing  to  Miss  Enid  about  her  sister,  and  it  would  be  well,  I 
think,  if  you  gave  the  same  caution  to  Mr.  Barton.  He  would 
take  it  better  from  you  than  he  probably  would  from  me.  This 
being  so,  my  present  suggestion  is  that,  since  Miss  Vivian  was, 
as  I  am  given  to  understand,  a  great  reader  both  of  religious 
books  and  of  poetry,  and  has  doubtless  left  in  her  sitting-room 
many  volumes  with  her  own  name  in  them,  you  should,  during 
her  absence,  put  these  possessions  away.  I  am  not  authorized 

245 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

to  explain  the  nature  of  the  difference  between  the  sisters,  but 
I  am  not  betraying  the  confidence  which  the  parents  have 
thought  fit  to  repose  in  me,  if  I  tell  you  that  it  originates  in 
circumstances  for  which  neither  of  these  young  people  is  in  any 
measure  responsible.  I  feel  sure  that  you  will  be  glad  to  know 
this.  As  soon  as  I  can  I  will  telegraph  the  important  moment 
when  I  shall  have  the  honor  of  presenting  you  with  a  new  niece. 
"  Yours,  with  respectful  sincerity, 

"  GUSTAV  THISTLEWOOD." 


The  duty  of  putting  away  Miss  Vivian's  private  be- 
longings provided  Miss  Arundel  with  an  occasion  for 
much  congenial  activity,  and  the  not  unpleasant  mystery 
which  made  this  precaution  desirable  filled  Mr.  Hugo 
and  Oswald  with  a  subtle  sense  of  holiday.  They  felt, 
indeed,  so  much  disinclined  for  any  of  their  usual  occu- 
pations that  most  of  the  afternoon  was  spent  by  them 
in  the  absorbing  sport  of  pursuing  three  strange  cats 
which  had  invaded  the  Cliff's  End  garden,  and  taking 
shots  at  them  with  a  catapult  of  Mr.  Hugo's  own  inven- 
tion. 

Lady  Susannah,  meanwhile,  whose  early  disappoint- 
ment in  love  was  now  disposing  her  toward  sympathy 
with  all  unfortunate  lovers,  had  despatched  as  early  as 
possible  a  kindly  letter  to  Mr.  Barton.  His  attachment 
to  her  niece  by  no  means  itself  displeased  her.  She  had 
been  touched  and  drawn  toward  him  by  the  simplicity 
with  which  he  avowed  it.  But  her  kindliness,  flavored 
by  a  sense  of  some  possible  future  relationship,  seemed 
to  carry  with  it  a  right  to  advise  and  chasten;  and  Mr. 
Barton's  attachment  being,  for  the  present  at  all  events, 
one  which  could  advance  itself  to  no  practical  conclusion, 
she  was  anxious,  while  showing  him  that  she  quite  under- 
stood his  feelings,  to  insinuate  that  a  sensible  man  ought 
to  exercise  some  control  over  them.  "I  quite  agree 
with  you,"  she  wrote,  "that  the  postponement  of  Nest's 
confirmation  makes  this  illness  of  hers  especially  sad 
and  unfortunate.  But  you  have  done  all  you  can.  You 
will  help  nobody  by  distressing  yourself;  and  in  a  very 

246 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

few  weeks  we  may  hope  that  she  will  be  given  back  to 
us.  Don't  mope.  Come  and  see  us  at  tea  to-morrow.  If 
you  come  rather  late  you  will  probably  meet  Enid  Wynn, 
the  sister;  she  ought  to  interest  you  because  of  her  con- 
nection with  Nest.  And  afterward  you  and  I  can  have  a 
brief  talk  in  private;  I  want  to  give  you  a  little  caution 
with  regard  to  your  conversation  with  Enid.  If  you 
wish  to  look  on  me  some  day  as  an  aunt,  you  must  allow 
me  to  anticipate  an  aunt's  privileges  and  advise  you." 

Mr.  Barton  divined,  as  he  read  this — and  he  divined 
quite  correctly — that  the  depths  of  his  own  passion  were 
beyond  Lady  Susannah's  comprehension ;  but  he  divined, 
at  the  same  time,  the  sincerity  of  her  good-will  toward 
him,  and  the  effect  on  his  spirits  of  her  last  sentence  was 
magical.  It  was  like  a  touch  of  cool  ointment  applied 
to  a  smarting  wound.  He  had,  moreover,  discovered  by 
this  time  a  source  of  consolation  through  his  own  un- 
assisted reasonings.  It  was  impossible,  he  concluded, 
though  he  often  had  thought  the  contrary,  that  Dr. 
Thistlewood,  at  the  time  of  his  inquiry  about  the  details 
of  Miss  Vivian's  behavior,  could  have  known  or  even 
suspected  the  attachment  between  herself  and  him. 
Nothing,  however,  could  weaken  his  conviction  that 
Miss  Vivian's  attachment  to  himself  was  somehow  at  the 
bottom  of  what  to  him  was  her  otherwise  inexplicable 
removal,  and  that  of  this  removal  Dr.  Thistlewood  was 
the  primary  instigator.  But  how  could  Dr.  Thistlewood 
have  found  such  a  fact  out  ?  The  answer,  when  at  last 
he  thought  of  it,  was  overwhelming  in  its  clear  simplic- 
ity: Miss  Vivian,  in  her  helpless  condition,  must  have 
confided  the  secret  to  Dr.  Thistlewood.  He  could  see 
her  lying  weak  and  exhausted  on  a  sofa,  turning  her  beau- 
tiful and  now  helpless  eyes  to  the  masterful  physician, 
and  surrendering  to  him  with  angelic  simplicity  the  holy 
secret  which  at  once  sustained  and  agitated  that  frail 
vessel,  her  body.  The  pathos  of  the  imagined  scene  ren- 
dered her  doubly  and  trebly  dear  to  him.  The  affection 
with  which  he  enfolded  her  turned  into  three  affections — 

247 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

the  adoration  of  the  lover,  the  solicitude  of  the  servant 
of  Christ,  and  the  yearning  of  the  mother  for  the  little 
helpless  child;  and  from  this  triple  communion  with  her 
something  besides  developed  itself — a  fiery  confidence  in 
his  future  and  hers,  and  a  cool  resolve  that  on  the  first 
favorable  opportunity  he  would  extort  from  Dr.  Thistle- 
wood's  own  lips  a  full  account  of  his  proceedings,  of  the 
whereabouts  and  condition  of  his  patient,  and  of  the 
nature  and  the  probable  duration  of  those  obstacles,  if 
any,  which  made  a  separation  between  her  and  her 
future  husband  imperative.  For  the  present  he  was 
doomed  to  inaction,  and  meanwhile  events  moved  on. 


CHAPTER  II 

QHORTLY  after  five  o'clock  the  door-bell  at  Cliff's  End 
O  gave  a  resounding  peal.  Lady  Susannah,  who  was 
in  the  drawing-room  together  with  her  family  party, 
rose  with  an  odd  timidity  which  was  almost  like  distress, 
and  made  her  way  into  the  hall.  Mr.  Hugo  looked  as 
though  he  would  like  to  follow  her,  but  Mr.  Carlton,  with 
the  air  of  an  elderly  governess,  enunciated  his  opinion 
that  the  new-comer  would  be  shy  and  had  better  be  left 
to  the  welcome  of  her  aunt  alone — advice  which  he  em- 
phasized by  slipping  into  the  hall  himself  and  finding  a 
position  half-way  up  the  staircase,  whence  the  whole 
drama  of  arrival  could  be  clearly  and  unobtrusively 
witnessed.  The  front  door  was  open.  There  was  al- 
ready a  little  bustle  in  the  porch,  and  beyond  the  porch 
Dr.  Thistlewood,  in  a  hooded  cloak,  was  saying  good- 
bye to  somebody  whom  Mr.  Carlton  could  not  yet  see. 
"I  can't  come  in,"  he  could  hear  Dr.  Thistlewood  say- 
ing; "but  tell  your  aunt  that  I've  brought  you  faithful- 
ly to  her  door,  and  don't  forget,  young  lady,  the  good 
advice  that  I've  given  you."  Mr.  Carlton  heard  the 
clear  reply  of  a  speaker  still  out  of  view.  It  might  have 
come,  he  thought,  from  an  amicable  but  slightly  im- 
pertinent school-boy.  "Don't  you  trouble  yourself." 
This  is  what  the  voice  said.  "One  would  fancy,  to  hear 
you  talk,  you  knew  pretty  well  all  about  me."  "Not 
all,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  with  a  pleasant  laugh  of  com- 
radeship, "but  more,  perhaps,  than  you  suppose.  Well, 
good-bye;  I  can't  wait  a  moment  longer.  I'll  come  and 
see  your  aunt  to-morrow." 

Then  came  a  process  of  hand-shaking  which  drew  the 
249 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

concealed  speaker  into  the  field  of  Mr.  Carlton's  vision. 
"Thanks,  awfully,"  she  said,  as  Dr.  Thistlewood  disap- 
peared into  a  carriage.  And  now  Mr.  Carlton,  though  his 
attention  was  somewhat  distracted  by  the  movements 
of  a  couple  of  servants  who  were  busy  with  some  arti- 
cles of  luggage,  was  able  to  form  an  idea  as  to  what  sort 
of  stranger  had  come  to  them.  He  found  himself  watch- 
ing a  figure  having  the  outlines  of  a  graceful  girl  and 
the  deportment  of  an  independent  boy — a  figure  which 
paused  in  its  advance  toward  the  hall  door  to  administer 
a  passing  reproof  to  a  kneeling  and  perturbed  footman. 
"Gently,  man,  gently  with  that  old  bundle  of  rugs." 
Mr.  Carlton  caught  the  words.  "You're  dropping  the 
magazines  and  papers  all  over  the  shop." 

A  moment  later  Lady  Susannah  came  forward,  and 
Mr.  Carlton  discreetly  tiptoed  back  to  the  drawing- 
room. 

"Enid,"  said  Lady  Susannah,  kindly,  but  with  a  cer- 
tain effort,  "my  dear,  I  am  glad  to  see  you." 

Accompanied  by  a  little  spitz-dog,  the  young  lady  ad- 
vanced, looked  at  the  friend  who  welcomed  her,  and  then 
threw  her  arms  brusquely  round  Lady  Susannah's  neck. 

"It's  awfully  good  of  you  having  me  here  like  this," 
she  said.  "I  always  heard  from  father  you  were  quite 
one  of  the  best.  Do  you  mind  my  giving  you  a  kiss? 
I  hope  I'm  not  too  presuming." 

Lady  Susannah  returned  the  salute  with  tenderness, 
and  when  this  process  was  over  there  were  traces  of 
moisture  in  her  eyes. 

When  the  stranger  entered  the  drawing-room  from 
the  twilight  that  was  perennial  in  the  hall,  her  likeness 
to  Miss  Vivian,  and  her  difference  from  her,  both  be- 
came equally  apparent.  Their  figures  were  somewhat, 
their  features  were  closely,  similar,  and,  indeed,  recalled 
to  Lady  Susannah  Dr.  Thistlewood's  discourse  on  twins. 
But  the  likeness  ended  there.  Every  movement  of  Miss 
Vivian's  was  instinct  with  something  that  was  not  male. 
The  frou-frou  of  her  skirts,  the  belts  that  accentuated 

250 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

her  waist,  her  furs  softly  scented,  the  delicacy  of  her 
gloves  and  boots  —  all  seemed  a  part  of  herself.  She 
had  hardly  a  characteristic  which  would  not  in  a  man 
be  monstrous.  Miss  Enid  wore  little  that  a  man  might 
not  have  worn  as  well.  She  had  on  her  head  a  hard, 
wide-awake  hat.  Her  white  collar  was  stiff.  Her  neck- 
tie had  a  horseshoe  pin  in  it.  Her  gloves  were  of  loose, 
thick  doeskin,  and,  to  put  the  whole  matter  in  a  nut- 
shell, her  dress  of  plain  brown  cloth,  beautifully  fitting 
though  it  was,  seemed  making  a  piquant  apology  for 
consenting  to  end  in  skirts.  Her  voice,  moreover,  though 
otherwise  not  unlike  Miss  Vivian's,  was,  nevertheless,  a 
good  half-tone  lower. 

She  greeted  her  new  relations  with  a  frank  grasp  of 
the  hand  and  a  nod  of  composed  good-fellowship,  though 
in  Mr.  Carlton's  case  these  rites  were  retarded  by  a  mo- 
ment's appraising  inspection  of  his  rings  and  his  little 
high-heeled  feet.  Then,  on  Lady  Susannah's  suggest- 
ing that  she  had  better  come  to  the  tea-table,  she  tore 
off  her  gloves,  tossed  them  contemptuously  onto  a  sofa, 
and  observed  that,  the  room  being  hot,  she  proposed  to 
take  off  her  coat.  Oswald  was  at  once  at  her  service, 
begging  her  to  accept  his  help. 

"Thanks,  dear  boy!"  she  said,  equably.  "Peel  it  off 
if  you  can.  One,  two,  three  —  now  for  a  good  pull. 
Thanks,  once  more.  Now  chuck  it  down  anywhere." 

Lady  Susannah  felt  herself  to  be  listening  to  a  new 
species  of  language,  and  making  acquaintance  with  a 
new  code  of  gesture.  Both,  besides  being  a  surprise  to 
her,  were  a  shock  to  her  old-fashioned  prejudices,  and 
yet  the  quiet  self-possession  of  the  stranger,  the  absence 
of  any  doubt  on  her  part  that  each  phrase  she  used  was 
the  right  one,  and  the  sweetness  of  her  low-toned  voice, 
which  formed  an  amusing  contrast  to  the  uses  which  its 
owner  made  of  it,  did  much  toward  turning  into  in- 
dulgence the  criticism  which  they  united  to  provoke. 

"Now,"  said  Lady  Susannah,  "I've  no  doubt  you're 
hungry.  Here's  your  tea,  and  here  are  muffins,  toast, 
17  251 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

sandwiches,  Devonshire  cream.     I'll  leave  you  to  help 
yourself.     I  hope  you  had  a  pleasant  journey." 

"Devonshire  cream!"  said  Miss  Enid.  "I  must  sam- 
ple that.  I  never  saw  it  before.  Yes,  Aunt  Susannah, 
the  journey  itself  was  right  enough,  only  at  Bristol, 
where  we'd  got  to  change,  we'd  a  mauvais  quart  d'heure 
on  the  platform.  The  whole  place  from  end  to  end  was 
as  black  as  your  hat  with  excursionists.  When  our  own 
train  came  in  it  was  all  we  could  do  to  get  to  our  re- 
served compartment.  Dr.  Thistlewood's  as  strong  as 
they  make  'em,  but  even  he  was  a  bit  hustled,  and  as 
for  the  porter,  they  nearly  squeezed  his  insides  out.  I 
felt,"  she  continued,  as  everybody  seemed  inclined  to 
listen  to  her,  "  for  all  the  world  as  if  I  were  at  good  old 
Cairo,  where  fifty  Arabs  in  night-shirts  fight  over  one 
dressing-bag,  and  the  next  moment,  for  anything  you 
can  tell,  it  may  be  at  Mecca.  Before  I  knew  better  I 
fancied  myself  rather  smart  for  discovering  that  the 
scarecrow  who  grabbed  mine  first  was  Hassan.  Imagine 
my  feelings  on  discovering  that  they  were  all  Hassans — 
every  man  Jack  of  them!  Look  here,"  she  said,  turn- 
ing confidentially  to  Mr.  Hugo,  who  with  some  naive 
adroitness  had  managed  to  sit  down  next  her,  "I  didn't 
quite  catch  your  name,  though  I  know  that  your  broth- 
er's called  Oswald.  What's  yours?  Well,  don't  be  in  a 
hurry.  Think  it  over  and  tell  me  to-morrow ;  and  mean- 
while give  me  a  bit  more  cream." 

"I  see,"  said  Miss  Arundel,  "you've  a  dear  little  dog 
of  your  own.  We  must  introduce  it  to  James.  What's 
its  name?  Would  you  like  it  to  have  some  milk?" 

"Yes,  if  you  like,"  Miss  Enid  replied,  carelessly. 
"Where's  the  little  brute  got  to?  Father  insisted  on 
having  it  sent  after  me.  But  it's  not  worth  a —  Os- 
wald divined  that  she  was  going  to  say  "a  damn," 
but  she  changed  the  phrase  in  time.  "It  is  not,"  she 
said,  "worth  anything.  There  isn't  a  bit  of  sport  in 
it.  I  tried  it  at  home,  and  it  would  not  even  kill  a 
sparrow." 

252 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

An  expression  of  shocked  surprise  was  visible  on  Lady 
Susannah's  face. 

"Dr.  Thistlewood,"  she  said,  coldly,  "tells  us  you're 
quite  a  traveller.  You've  been  in  England  before." 

"Yes,"  said  Miss  Enid.  "I  was  once  for  a  month  at 
Harborough.  This  place  is  better  to  look  at.  I  could  al- 
most fancy  I  was  at  Nice.  I  suppose,  however,  there's  no 
hunting  hereabouts — I  dare  say  no  sport  of  any  kind — 
except,"  she  added,  after  a  moment's  reflection,  "rats." 

"What!"  exclaimed  Lady  Susannah — "what  should 
make  you  think  of  rats?  I'm  happy  to  say  that  in  this 
house  there's  not  a  rat  to  be  caught  by  anybody." 

"No,"  said  Miss  Enid.  "But,  coming  down  in  the 
train,  Dr.  Thistlewood  told  me  that  the  basement  of 
Lord  Cotswold's  castle  was  crawling  with  them;  and  if  I 
could  raise  a  terrier,  he  said,  he'd  be  thankful  if  I  would 
have  a  go  at  them." 

Lady  Susannah  shook  her  head.  "I  hope,  my  dear," 
she  said,  smiling,  "you're  not  going  to  be  cruel.  Come, 
if  you've  done  your  tea  you'll  like  to  be  shown  your 
rooms.  Nina,  will  you  take  her?" 

"Certainly,"  said  Miss  Arundel,  with  alacrity.  "  Enid, 
are  you  ready?" 

"Right  you  are,"  replied  Miss  Enid;  and  the  cousins 
had  risen  to  go  when  the  door  was  opened  and  the 
butler  ushered  in  Mr.  Barton,  preternaturally  grave,  but 
affecting  a  slight  smile. 

"Here,  you — Oswald,"  Miss  Enid  was  saying  over  her 
shoulder  as  Mr.  Barton  advanced,  "be  a  good  fellow. 
Pitch  us  my  coat  and  gloves.  Now,  Nina,  lead  the  way." 

She  was  in  the  act  of  catching  her  possessions  when  she 
found  the  new  visitor  staring  at  her,  to  which  attention 
she  replied  by  a  quick  but  comprehensive  survey  of  him. 
Lady  Susannah  was  in  the  act  of  calling  her  back,  with 
a  view  to  making  her  and  Mr.  Barton  acquainted,  but 
the  impulse  came  too  late — Miss  Arundel  and  she  were 
gone. 

"I  hope,"  said  Miss  Enid,  as  soon  as  they  were  safe 
253 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

outside,  "that  that  individual  will  know  me  again  when 
he  sees  me.  Who  is  he  ?  He  looks  as  if  he'd  swallowed 
the  poker." 

Miss  Arundel  explained  that  Mr.  Barton  was  a  clergy- 
man, a  friend,  and  a  neighbor. 

"  Have  you  many  in  these  parts  built  that  way  ?"  asked 
Miss  Enid,  as  they  climbed  the  stairs.  "The  only  Eng- 
lish parson  I've  ever  seen  to  speak  to  was  a  ripping  little 
fellow  in  Northamptonshire,  who  hunted  three  days  a 
week,  and  would  take  a  toss  without  turning  a  hair.  The 
poor  people  about  him  worshipped  the  very  ground  he 
trod  on,  and  you'd  never  have  guessed  what  he  was  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  a  bit  of  necktie.  What!  am  I  to  live 
down  this  very  snug  little  passage?  And  your  aunt 
spoke  about  rooms.  Is  she  going  to  give  me  two  ?  This 
is  doing  me  well.  What's  in  here?  The  bedroom?" 

Miss  Vivian's  maid,  a  discreet  elderly  woman,  who  had 
— it  was  so  arranged  at  Dr.  Thistlewood's  express  sug- 
gestion— been  left  to  attend  Miss  Enid,  was  busy  setting 
out  a  pair  of  plain  ivory  brushes,  and  some  other  toilet 
appliances  equally  plain,  on  the  dressing-table. 

"I  don't  know,  miss,"  she  said,  "if  you've  got  any 
bottles  and  other  things.  I  can  find  no  scent  any- 
where." 

"My  dear  woman,"  replied  Miss  Enid,  "you  may  take 
your  oath  of  that.  It's  the  whole  bag  of  tricks  you've 
got  there.  But  what  are  these?"  she  went  on,  pointing 
to  a  powder-box  and  a  pair  of  glove-stretchers.  "They 
aren't  mine.  Perhaps,  Nina,  they're  yours." 

Miss  Arundel's  nature  was  transparently  and  bluntly 
truthful.  A  prevarication  was  here  necessary,  but  she 
paid  for  it  with  an  ingenuous  blush." 

"Somebody,"  she  said,  "must  have  left  them  here  by 
accident.  I'm  sure  I  can't  say  who." 

"Well,"  said  Miss  Enid  to  the  maid,  "lock  them  up  in 
some  place  which  they  won't  get  out  of  till  they're  want- 
ed." And  this  matter  having  been  settled,  she  turned  to 
survey  the  room. 

254 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

"I  hope  you'll  be  comfortable,"  said  Miss  Arundel, 
kindly. 

Miss  Enid  looked  at  her  with  a  laugh,  and  laid  a  hand 
on  her  shoulder. 

"Comfortable!"  she  said.  "I  should  rather  think  I 
should  be.  But,  Nina,  let  me  breathe  it  in  your  ear — all 
these  frills  and  flounces  and  ornaments  and  satin  bows 
make  me  feel  like  a  bull  being  put  to  bed  in  a  china-shop. 
Don't  think  me  a  beast  for  having  popped  it  out  like 
that.  Aunt  Susannah's  awfully  good  to  me.  And  now 
let's  have  a  squint  at  the  sitting-room." 

In  the  sitting-room  was  a  lamp,  and  a  fire  was  bright- 
ly blazing.  All  Miss  Vivian's  books  and  other  traces  of 
personal  occupation  had  been  removed,  but  otherwise 
everything  was  arranged  precisely  as  she  had  left  it,  and 
there  still  clung  to  the  curtains  a  fragrance  scarcely  per- 
ceptible, which  was  due  to  sundry  burnings  of  Mr.  Bar- 
ton's incense.  Miss  Enid  sniffed  a  little,  and  glanced  at 
the  walls  and  furniture. 

"  If  these  were  to  be  my  permanent  diggings,"  she  said, 
"  I  should  want  all  these  walls  for  my  fishing-rods.  You'll 
think  me  an  absolute  Goth,  my  dear,  but  I  should  clap 
those  china  brackets  in  a  cupboard.  All  the  same,  I 
couldn't  better  the  chairs.  But,  Nina,  dear  girl,  there's 
a  crucifix  and  a  saint's  picture  and  a  prie-dieu.  They 
remind  me  of  the  convent  school." 

"Were  you  brought  up  in  a  convent?"  asked  Miss 
Arundel,  with  some  curiosity. 

"Yes,"  said  Miss  Enid,  "for  my  sins  I  was;  but,  of 
course,  only  when  I  was  a  kid.  They  weren't  bad  beasts 
in  their  own  way — some  of  the  sisters.  But  what  are 
those  things  doing  here?  Are  you  all  of  you  holy  Ro- 
mans? And  that  black  man  down-stairs  who  made  a 
face  at  me — perhaps  he  was  the  genuine  article?" 

Miss  Arundel  assured  her  that  Mr.  Barton,  like  Lady 
Susannah  and  herself,  were  members  of  the  same  Church 
as  the  hunting  parson  of  Northamptonshire,  and  that 
Mr.  Barton  would  be  horrified  at  the  supposition  that 

255 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

crucifixes  and  pictures  of  saints  were  not  even  more  in 
place  in  an  Anglican  household  than  in  a  Roman.  "And 
you,"  she  went  on,  "from  the  way  in  which  you  speak 
about  the  convent,  I  suppose  that  you  belong  to  the 
English  Church,  too?" 

Miss  Enid  scrutinized  her  with  a  sort  of  humorous 
hesitation.  "Well,  my  dear,"  she  said,  "I  certainly 
belong  to  nothing  else.  And  now  let  me  ask  you  one 
thing.  Don't  you  think  that,  before  we  go  down-stairs, 
we  might  open  the  window  and  have  this  bower  of 
luxury  aired  a  bit?  It  may  be  only  my  fancy,  but  to 
me  the  place  smells  like  a  pole-cat." 

"Perhaps,"  said  Miss  Arundel,  "it  may  be  a  trifle 
stuffy.  Well,  we'll  do  as  you  say.  And  now  you  shall 
see  the  school-room." 

The  school-room  where  Mr.  Hugo,  still  thinking  of  his 
new  cousin,  was  consoling  himself  for  her  disappearance 
by  severe  preoccupation  with  his  microscope,  was  much 
more  to  Miss  Enid's  taste  than  the  elegance  of  her  own 
apartment. 

"One  can  breathe  here!"  she  exclaimed.  "This  is  the 
place  for  me." 

Mr.  Hugo  looked  up  delighted;  but  with  some  effort 
of  will  he  consulted  his  dignity  as  a  sage  by  not  abandon- 
ing his  apparatus  for  a  trifle  like  a  mere  girl.  He  sum- 
moned a  weighty  frown  and  became  more  preoccupied 
than  ever.  Miss  Enid  Wynn  rewarded  him  by  an  im- 
mediate approach  to  his  table. 

"What  have  you  got  in  there?"  she  said.  "Let  me 
have  a  peep — do." 

Mr.  Hugo  looked  up  again,  and  beamed  condescending 
approval  on  this  dawn  of  scientific  intelligence  in  a 
quite  unexpected  quarter. 

"Wait  a  moment,"  he  said,  as  he  delicately  turned  a 
screw,  "till  I've  got  the  object  into  something  like  prop- 
er position.  What's  in  there  is  a  toad's  eye.  Now  sit 
down,  and  if  the  focus  is  wrong  you  can  alter  it." 

"Well,  Enid,"  said  Miss  Arundel,  "I  shall  leave  you 
256 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

here.  You'll  be  able  to  find  your  way  to  your  own 
room  at  dressing-time." 

Miss  Enid,  meanwhile,  was  beginning  to  peer  through 
the  eye-piece  of  the  instrument. 

"All  right,  Nina,"  she  said.  "Look  here,  Mr.  Hugo — 
I  haven't  got  the  focus  yet.  Am  I  turning  the  right 
screw?  How  does  the  little  devil  work?  No,  don't 
touch  me.  It's  coming.  Ah,  isn't  that  jolly!" 

Mr.  Hugo's  delight  increased  as  he  watched  his  prom- 
ising pupil,  and  his  hand  hovered  over  her  shoulder  like 
a  moth  that  desired  to  pitch  on  it.  This  consummation, 
however,  was  hindered  partly  by  his  own  shyness,  partly 
by  the  entrance  of  Oswald,  which  a  frown  on  Mr.  Hugo's 
brow  showed  that  he  regarded  as  the  worst  form  of  in- 
trusion. As  for  Oswald  himself,  he  had  just  come  in 
from  the  garden,  where  he  had  begun  the  composition 
of  a  poem  of  which  Miss  Enid  Wynn  was  the  occasion — 

"  Your  heart  is  fresh  as  morning  dew, 
But  mine  is  bitterer  than  the  sea." 

He  had  accomplished  these  verses,  and  the  rest  of  the 
poem  was  to  lead  up  to  them;  but,  the  requisite  rhymes 
and  sentiments  being  somewhat  slow  in  presenting  them- 
selves, a  spirit  in  his  feet  led  him  to  look  for  the  being 
whose  freshness  formed  such  a  contrast  to  his  own 
blighted  maturity.  The  charms  of  a  young  hoyden  like 
this,  with  a  soul  that  could  stoop  to  rat-catching,  could 
not  possibly  endanger — so  he  told  himself — his  fatal 
loyalty  to  Lady  Conway.  Still,  like  many  lovers  of  very 
much  more  experience,  he  felt  that  though  his  loyalty 
to  one  lady  was  inviolable,  it  was  only  due  to  himself 
that  others  should  attempt  to  undermine  it,  and  he  was 
now  in  quest  of  a  temptation  which,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
he  would  resist. 

Oswald's  instincts  in  matters  like  these  were  admirable. 
He  would  have  been  horrified  had  he  realized  how  closely 
they  resembled  those  of  Mr.  Hugo.  Without  seeming  to 
notice  that  Miss  Enid  was  present,  he  went  to  the  cup- 

257 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

board  in  which  he  kept  his  portfolio  of  caricatures,  and, 
opening  it  on  the  central  table,  became  seemingly  lost 
in  a  search  for  some  particular  picture.  His  tactics  were 
presently  successful,  for  as  soon  as  Miss  Enid  had  had 
enough  of  the  spectacle  of  the  toad's  eye  she  rose  from 
her  chair  and  cautiously  approached  the  artist,  leaving 
poor  Mr.  Hugo  to  affect  a  profound  indifference,  the  only 
result  of  which  was  the  breaking  of  his  slide  as  he  ex- 
tracted it. 

"Oh,"  said  Miss  Enid,  carelessly,  with  her  arms 
akimbo,  "are  all  those  pretty  pictures  yours?" 

"Yes,"  said  Oswald,  assuming  an  air  of  profound  ab- 
straction, but  at  the  same  time  adroitly  spreading  some 
of  the  drawings  over  the  table.  "  They  are  only  scribbles 
of  mine.  I  was  seeing  if  I'd  lost  a  letter  among  them." 

Miss  Enid  took  up  a  drawing  and  broke  into  a  pleasant 
laugh.  "This  is  good!"  she  exclaimed.  "I  see  you're 
a  regular  dab  at  it.  Are  these  some  of  the  Southquay 
freaks?" 

"What  have  you  got  hold  of?"  said  Oswald.  "Oh, 
that's  a  Mrs.  Morriston  Campbell  and  her  dried-up  stick 
of  a  husband." 

Miss  Enid  next  took  up  one  of  Oswald's  romantic  love 
scenes,  in  which  a  lady  on  a  balcony  was  listening  to  a 
moon-lit  troubadour. 

"Here's  a  party,"  she  said,  "who  seems  to  be  a  trifle 
sorry  for  herself.  You've  made  her  look  as  if  she  had  a 
pain  in  her  tummy." 

This  piece  of  profane  criticism  was  heard  by  Mr.  Hugo 
with  rapture,  and  he  immediately  came  over  to  the  table 
to  enjoy  his  brother's  discomfiture;  but  Miss  Enid  had 
passed  from  the  love  scene  to  some  more  of  the  carica- 
tures, and  was  once  again  in  a  state  of  appreciation  and 
interest.  As  the  next  best  thing,  therefore,  to  seeing 
Oswald's  talents  made  light  of,  Mr.  Hugo  set  about  help- 
ing to  do  the  honors  of  them  himself. 

"Oswald,"  he  said,  "show  her  the  ones  of  Mr.  Barton 
and  Peter." 

258 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

"Oh,  do!"  cried  Miss  Enid,  her  eyes  lighting  up  with 
mischief.  "Mr.  Barton's  the  sky-pilot,  isn't  he  —  the 
bean-pole  of  a  man  who  came  stalking  into  the  drawing- 
room  and  looked  at  me — and  looked  at  me — well,  as  if 
I  was  some  one  out  of  Noah's  Ark ?  Is  that  him?  Nina 
tells  me  he's  not  a  Roman;  so  what  has  he  to  do  with 
Peter,  or  Pope  either?" 

"Our  Peter,"  began  Oswald,  solemnly,  "is  not  an 
apostle.  He  is  a  deity." 

But  this  method  of  explanation  was  much  too  indirect 
for  Mr.  Hugo. 

"Our  Peter,"  he  said,  "is  a  beautiful  Angora  cat,  and 
he  cost  seven  pounds,  and  that's  his  altar  where  we  offer 
up  lights  and  liver  to  him;  and  Oswald  has  invented  a 
ritual  for  him,  copied  from  Mr.  Barton's;  and — oh,  Os- 
wald —  there,  look  there  —  there's  one  of  the  pictures. 
That's  Mr.  Barton  preaching  an  offertory  sermon  for 
him." 

The  news  that  Peter  was  a  cat  rather  puzzled  than 
amused  Miss  Enid,  until  she  had  examined  the  pictures, 
when  she  grasped  the  situation  instantly.  As  soon  as 
she  saw  Mr.  Barton  depicted  in  full  canonicals  she 
burst  into  a  laugh  that  was  delightful  to  the  artist's 
vanity. 

"Oh,"  she  said,  "this  is  ripping!  Do  let  us  see  some 
more  of  them!  As  soon  as  I  saw  Mr.  Barton,  I  thought 
he  looked  a  first-rate  rotter.  You  don't  mean  to  say 
that  he  really  rigs  himself  out  like  that!  They've  got  to 
do  it  in  France ;  but  here  I  thought  even  clergymen  were 
more  sensible.  Women  in  petticoats  are  bad  enough. 
Men  in  petticoats  are  worse.  I  say,  Mr.  Hugo,  I  want 
to  tell  you  a  secret.  I've  got  an  Albanian's  dress  with  me, 
very  much  like  a  Highlander's,  with  a  kilt  only  down  to 
there.  It  does  make  you  feel  so  free.  And  I've  got  a 
sporran  and  everything.  Do  you  think  that  if  I  wore 
it  to-night  Aunt  Susannah  would  go  pop?  It  would 
make  Mr.  Barton  sit  up,  wouldn't  it  ?  I  must  try  it  some 
day.  I  don't  dare  do  it  to-night." 

259 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

Mr.  Hugo  whispered,  with  wise  reticence:  "Keep  that 
for  Mr.  Barton." 

To  Oswald  this  whispering  and  the  whisperers  seemed 
utterly  beneath  contempt,  so,  gathering  his  pictures  to- 
gether, he  hastily  left  the  room,  taking  his  constancy  to 
Lady  Conway  away  with  him,  like  a  shield  which  had 
not  received  the  honor  of  a  single  dent. 

When  dinner-time  arrived  Miss  Enid  made  her  ap- 
pearance in  a  long  skirt,  which  was  safe  enough  from  any 
resemblance  to  a  kilt;  but  she  wore  a  sort  of  black  jacket 
so  cut  and  so  ornamented  with  silver  buttons  as  more 
or  less  to  suggest  the  male  fashion  of  the  Highlands, 
while  her  hair  was  somehow  arranged  so  as  to  look  like  a 
Scotch  bonnet,  and  was  tied  at  the  back  with  a  knowing 
little  black  bow.  Her  manners  before,  and  especially 
toward  Lady  Susannah,  though  in  no  way  visibly  con- 
strained, were  so  naturally  subdued  and  softened  that 
Lady  Susannah  herself  could  find  no  new  fault  with  her 
save  that  her  language,  her  tastes,  and  even  her  dress, 
were  all  a  little  peculiar.  There  was,  moreover,  some- 
thing in  her  spirits  that  everybody  found  catching — so 
much  so,  indeed,  that  in  the  drawing-room,  when  dinner 
was  over,  Mr.  Carlton  proposed  the  playing  of  some  in- 
nocent round  game.  The  game  at  length  fixed  upon 
was,  at  all  events,  innocent  enough.  Each  player  in  turn 
named  one  of  the  four  elements — fire,  water,  earth,  and 
air — and  challenged  another  to  name,  while  the  challenger 
counted  ten,  something  which  inhabited,  or  was,  at  any 
rate,  specially  connected  with  it.  Thus  Mr.  Carlton  him- 
self was  challenged  with  the  element  air.  His  answer 
by  rights  should  have  been  some  bird  or  insect;  and  he 
was  held  to  have  failed  ignominiously  because  all  he 
could  think  of  was  soda-water.  Oswald  did  no  better, 
when,  air  having  been  named  again,  he  responded  with 
cynical  promptitude:  "Women's  promises." 

"Oswald,"  gurgled  his  aunt,  "I  think  you're  a  little 
hard  on  us.  But  you  must  think  of  something  that's  alive. 
Now,  Hugo,  it's  your  turn.  You  give  us  an  element." 

260 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

Mr.  Hugo  looked  round  him  with  a  solemn  and  superior 
smile,  and,  his  eyes  at  last  fixing  themselves  on  his  new 
cousin,  he  astonished  the  whole  party  by  articulating  the 
word  "Carbon." 

"My  dear,"  said  Lady  Susannah,  "carbon  is  not  an 
element." 

"It  is,"  said  Mr.  Hugo,  sententiously.  "If  it  weren't 
for  what  I  and  others  are  now  finding  out  about  radium, 
we  might  still  say  that  carbon  was  the  great  creator  of 
life." 

"It  takes  much  more  than  an  element,  Hugo,"  said 
Lady  Susannah,  gravely,  "to  make  even  a  sparrow. 
You  shouldn't  talk  like  that — not  even  in  fun.  It's  not 
reverent." 

Mr.  Hugo,  at  this  juncture,  caught  his  new  cousin's  eye. 
It  seemed  to  him  that,  in  a  cautious  way,  she  winked 
at  him.  At  all  events,  she  did  something  else — she  sur- 
prised the  assembly  by  joining  in  the  discussion  herself. 

"Yes,  Aunt  Susannah,"  she  said;  "of  course,  if  it 
comes  to  that,  carbon  alone  will  no  more  make  life  than 
air  or  water  will.  You  want  oxygen,  hydrogen,  and  the 
whole  group  of  albuminates." 

"My  dear  child!"  exclaimed  Lady  Susannah,  astound- 
ed, "where  did  you  pick  all  this  up?" 

"Oh,"  said  Miss  Enid,  modestly,  "it's  only  what  all 
boys  know.  Isn't  it,  Mr.  Hugo?" 

The  young  lady's  familiarity  with  the  profoundest 
facts  of  science  went  straight  to  Mr.  Hugo's  heart;  but 
he  was  also  a  little  jealous  of  it. 

"I  should,"  he  replied,  "hardly  quite  say  that.  It's 
what  very  few  girls  know  at  any  rate." 

"Most  likely,"  she  went  on.  "I  seem  to  be  an  awful 
prig;  but,  you  see,  Aunt  Susannah,  as  soon  as  the  nuns 
had  done  with  me,  I  was  taught  something  sensible  by 
two  friends  of  father's — by  Dr.  Gonteau  and  Professor 
Guggenheim — at  Nice.  Dr.  Gonteau,  as  I  suppose  you 
know,  is  an  old  friend  of  Dr.  Thistlewood's,  and  he  often 
took  me  into  his  laboratory  and  let  me  see  him  at  work." 

261 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

"And  what,"  said  Mr.  Carlton,  daintily,  "did  the  other 
gentleman  do — the  gentleman  with  a  charming  name? 
He  sounds  like  a  chemist.  I'm  sure  he  made  horrid 
smells." 

"  Wrong,"  said  Miss  Enid.  "  Go  down  one.  Professor 
Guggenheim  gave  lectures  on  the  origin  of  religion  and 
on  the  Bible  and  on  sacred  books  and  on  Christianity." 

A  shadow  of  perplexed  disapproval  passed  away  from 
Lady  Susannah's  face. 

"I'm  glad,"  she  said,  "that  you've  had  some  regular 
religious  instruction.  But,  as  for  the  origin  of  religion, 
you  can  hardly  have  wanted  a  professor  to  tell  you  that." 

"I  say,  Enid,"  said  Mr.  Hugo,  when  he  was  lighting 
her  bedroom  candle  for  her,  "I'll  show  you  something 
to-morrow.  I  am  actually  producing  life  with  radium 
in  a  closed  glass  vessel." 


CHAPTER  III 

NEXT  morning  Oswald  had  risen  early,  and  gone  out 
before  breakfast  into  the  garden  to  finish  the  poem 
in  which  he  contrasted  the  heart  of  Miss  Wynn  with  his 
own.  He  was  thus  occupied  when,  at  a  turn  of  one  of 
the  paths,  he  came  on  Miss  Wynn  herself,  wearing  one  of 
his  own  hats. 

" Morning,"  she  said,  with  a  nod.  "Is  this  your  prop- 
erty I've  been  making  free  with?" 

"It  is,"  said  Oswald,  looking  her  full  in  the  eyes. 
"That  hat  has  known  many  airs  and  skies.  It  has  had 
a  long  life,  but  it  never  lived  till  now." 

"Oh,"  said  Miss  Wynn,  composedly,  "you  know  how 
to  lay  it  on,  I  see.  But  I  don't  care  for  compliments, 
thank  you.  Compliments  are  all  my  eye." 

"That,"  said  the  gallant  Oswald,  "is  because  you  have 
had  too  many  of  them." 

"Many  or  few,"  said  Miss  Wynn,  "I  can  pretty  well 
tell  their  value.  This  place  is  like  Italy.  Have  you 
ever  been  to  Italy?" 

"Once,"  said  Oswald,  with  a  slight,  mysterious  sigh. 
"I  should  like  to  go  there  again  for  the  sake  of  old 
associations — which  perhaps,  after  all,  it  hardly  dares  to 
think  about.  But  I  can't  go — at  least,  not  now.  I  am 
called  to  a  very  different  and  much  more  distant  place. 
I  am  expecting  every  week  to  be  ordered  out  to  Con- 
stantinople. I  happen  to  be  attached  to  the  Embassy." 

Miss  Wynn  looked  at  him  with  a  respect  which  she 
had  hardly  evinced  previously,  and  exchanged  her 
bantering  manner  for  a  sort  of  soft  sullenness. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "if  ever  in  your  life  you've  done 
263 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

anything  particularly  rotten,  I  hope  that  at  Constanti- 
nople you'll  be  sufficiently  far  away  from  it." 

The  word  "rotten,"  as  applied  to  any  possible  indis- 
cretion of  his  own,  seemed  to  Oswald  contemptibly  in- 
appropriate. But  what  this  girl  meant  was  evident. 
She  assumed  that  he  was  a  man  with  a  past.  She  was 
not  without  some  penetration.  She  would  never  have 
spoken  in  this  way  to  that  babyish  Mr.  Hugo.  The  con- 
versation was  here  disturbed  by  the  loud  ringing  of  a 
bell. 

"That's  not  for  breakfast,"  said  Oswald,  cynically. 
"It's  for  prayers." 

"Does  Aunt  Susannah  expect  me?"  asked  Miss  Wynn. 
"I  don't  mind  going  if  she  does — anything  for  a  quiet 
life.  She  doesn't?  You're  quite  sure?  Thank  good- 
ness for  that!" 

Oswald,  who  felt  that,  whatever  might  be  the  case  with 
men,  liberal  opinions  were  more  or  less  unbecoming  in 
women,  was  slightly  jarred  by  this  utterance,  and  his 
original  conclusion  that  there  was  a  strange  want  in  her 
nature  was  confirmed  by  the  promptitude  with  which, 
when  the  party  assembled  in  the  dining-room,  she  de- 
serted him  altogether  for  his  brother,  with  whom,  on 
pretence  of  being  helped  by  him  to  boil  an  egg  on  the 
sideboard,  she  soon  seemed  to  be  indulging  in  the  con- 
coction of  some  childish  plot. 

Subsequent  events  showed  that  such  had  been  indeed 
the  case.  "Enid,"  Miss  Arundel  had  said,  at  the  end 
of  breakfast,  with  the  air  of  a  person  proposing  some 
bout  of  intoxicating  dissipation,  "would  you  like,  in  the 
course  of  the  morning,  to  come  and  see  my  hens  and 
chickens?  I've  got  forty-seven,  and  nine  of  them  have 
the  gapes."  And  Miss  Enid  had  replied  that  already 
Mr.  Hugo  and  she  had  settled  to  go  for  a  stroll,  but  would 
visit  the  hen-house  on  their  return.  The  morning  wore 
away,  however,  and  the  two  were  still  missing;  and 
when  it  was  found  at  luncheon  that  both  their  chairs 
stood  empty,  Lady  Susannah  was  beginning  to  experi- 

264 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

ence  grave  alarm.  It  was  not  till  nearly  tea-time  that 
the  truants  showed  their  faces  again  and  the  history  of 
their  adventures  was  made  plain  in  all  its  surprising 
enormity. 

What  had  happened  was  this.  Among  Miss  Enid's 
whisperings  to  Mr.  Hugo  in  the  dining-room  had  been 
the  question:  "I  say,  have  you  got  a  terrier?"  Mr. 
Hugo,  somewhat  shamefacedly,  had  been  obliged  to  ad- 
mit he  had  not. 

"Well,"  said  Miss  Enid,  "no  doubt  Dr.  Thistlewood 
has  one.  Can't  we  slope  off  to  Lord  Cotswold's  and 
have  a  good  rat-hunt  there?" 

"Would  you,"  asked  Mr.  Hugo,  aghast  at  this  bold 
proposal,  "like  that  better  than  looking  at  my  radium 
and  the  beginnings  of  life  in  my  bottle?" 

"We'll  see  those  in  the  evening,"  whispered  Miss  Enid, 
insidiously,  "when  the  others  have  gone  to  bed.  I  don't 
see  why  I  should  turn  in  at  half-past  ten." 

Accordingly,  Mr.  Hugo,  in  obedience  to  the  stronger 
will,  had  set  off  with  his  companion,  bound  for  the 
Turkish  Castle. 

"  Now,"  she  said,  when  they  at  last  reached  the  portal, 
"  don't  be  afraid  of  the  bell.  Pull  it  for  all  you're  worth, 
or  let  me  give  a  lug  at  it." 

"Who  shall  we  ask  for?"  inquired  Mr.  Hugo,  tim- 
idly. 

"Oh,"  said  Miss  Enid,  "you  leave  all  that  to  me. 
Look  here,"  she  went  on  to  a  footman,  when  the  tall 
doors  were  opened,  "will  you  tell  Lord  Cotswold  that 
Miss  Wynn  and  Mr.  Hugo  Arundel  have  come  over  to 
do  the  bit  of  rat-catching  that  Dr.  Thistlewood  spoke 
about." 

The  man  looked  at  her  doubtfully,  and  could  hardly 
forbear  from  smiling. 

"Yes,"  Miss  Enid  continued,  "just  look  alive  and  find 
him.  He'll  know  all  about  it.  We'll  wait  here  outside. 
And  hi !  there ;  I  suppose  they  can  raise  a  dog  and  fer- 
ret on  the  premises?" 

265 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

"I'm  sure  I  couldn't  say,  miss.  I'll  find  Dr.  Thistle- 
wood  and  ask." 

"Well,  Mr.  Hugo,"  said  Miss  Enid,  "this  is  a  rum  sort 
of  castle.  It's  just  like  a  birthday-cake  with  half  the 
sugar  melted." 

Presently  the  footman  returned,  and,  demeaning  him- 
self much  more  respectfully,  said: 

"  His  lordship  is  at  home,  miss,  and  begs  that  you  will 
step  this  way." 

"Ah,"  said  Lord  Cotswold,  advancing,  when  the  pair 
were  shown  into  a  library,  ' '  when  age  loses  the  privilege 
of  going  to  look  for  youth,  youth  makes  good  the  loss  by 
coming  to  look  for  age.  There's  your  friend,  Dr.  Thistle- 
wood.  We  were  talking  about  you  just  now.  And  how 
is  our  man  of  science  ?  He  seems  to  be  a  sportsman  also. 
That's  just  as  it  should  be.  And  now,"  he  continued, 
"about  the  great  business  of  the  morning.  Dr.  Thistle- 
wood  knows  of  a  cottager  who  has  ferrets  and  who  lives 
close  by.  I've  sent  some  one  to  find  him  and  bring  him 
— if  he's  there  to  bring.  And,  meanwhile,  how  shall  we 
amuse  ourselves?" 

"I  hope  awfully,"  said  Miss  Enid,  with  an  engaging 
and  respectful  courtesy,  "that  we're  not  putting  you 
out.  I  thought  from  what  he — Dr.  Thistlewood — told 
me  that  we  could  just  have  gone  round  to  an  out-house 
and  had  a  whack  at  the  rats  without  disturbing  any- 
body." 

"Miss  Enid  Wynn,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  who  had 
been  watching  her  with  critical  interest,  "has  scientific 
tastes,  as  her  cousin  has.  Yes,  miss,  I  know  from  Dr. 
Gonteau  that  you  were  one  of  his  pupils.  Would  you 
like  to  look  at  the  place  where  the  lightning  struck  the 
balcony?" 

"  What!"  she  exclaimed;  " did  the  lightning  strike  this 
house?  I  like  anything  that's  to  do  with  electricity. 
May  we  really  have  a  look  at  that?" 

As  they  passed  through  the  main  drawing-room  Miss 
Enid  caught  sight  of  a  man  who  was  turning  over  some 

266 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

large  books  on  a  table,  and  who,  as  the  party  entered, 
looked  up  and  fixed  his  eyes  on  her. 

"I  say,"  she  whispered,  administering  a  slight  nudge 
to  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "who's  that?  He  looks  like  a  swell 
of  some  sort." 

Dr.  Thistlewood  replied  that  this  person  was  Sir  Raw- 
lin  Stantor,  who  at  that  moment  was  consulting  some 
government  blue  books,  the  property  of  Lord  Cots- 
wold.  "Sir  Rawlin,"  he  continued,  "you  know  this 
young  lady's  friends.  This  is  Miss  Enid  Wynn.  She's 
a  student  of  electrical  science,  and  we're  going  to  show 
her  the  balcony." 

"  You  just  be  quiet,"  she  said.  And,  extending  a  hand 
to  Sir  Rawlin  with  the  gesture  of  a  frank  school-boy, 
"Ain't  it  a  shame  of  him,"  she  continued,  "giving  me 
away  like  that?" 

Sir  Rawlin 's  expression  became  grave  and  then  sud- 
denly curious.  "I  will,"  he  said,  "come  with  you." 
And  he  followed  the  party  to  the  tower. 

The  broken  window  had  been  mended,  but  otherwise 
the  room,  looking  mean  and  tawdry  in  the  daylight,  was 
much  as  it  had  been  on  the  memorable  night  of  the 
party.  The  window  was  opened,  and  the  girl  went  out 
on  the  balcony. 

"Be  careful  not  to  fall,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  teas- 
ingly. 

"Make  yourself  easy,"  Miss  Enid  retorted.  "I  say, 
Mr.  Hugo,  look  how  this  rail's  twisted.  I  only  wish  I'd 
been  there  to  see  it  happen." 

"  I  was  there,"  said  Sir  Rawlin — "  as  near  as  I  am  now. 
I  wonder  if  you  would  have  begun  to  ask,  as  I  did,  '  For 
which  of  my  misdemeanors  is  the  lightning  trying  to 
get  at  me?'  " 

"I'm  sure,"  said  Miss  Enid,  bluntly,  "you  didn't  do 
anything  so  stupid.  Of  course  I  can  see  you're  laugh- 
ing. Well,  if  you  didn't  do  that  yourself,  why  do  you 
think  that  I  should  ?  I  was  at  Nice  all  through  the  last 
big  earthquake.  The  priests  said  it  was  a  judgment. 
18  267 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

A  judgment  on  what?  That's  what  I  wished  to  ask 
them.  It  just  toppled  their  churches  over  like  so  many 
old  ninepins,  and  it  didn't  give  even  a  jog  to  the  Casino 
at  Monte  Carlo.  Are  girls  in  England  brought  up  in  such 
a  silly  way  that  they  still  take  for  gospel  whatever  their 
nurses  tell  them  ?" 

"My  young  philosopher,"  said  Lord  Cotswold,  "you 
reason  as  well  as  Lucretius ;  but  the  problems  of  life  will 
wait  and  the  hours  of  this  morning  won't.  Would  you 
and  your  cousin  like  to  go  down  into  the  yard  ?  And  if 
the  dog  and  the  ferrets  have  not  yet  made  their  appear- 
ance, you  can  amuse  yourselves  by  examining  the  scene 
of  your  impending  exploits." 

Miss  Enid  replied  with  the  pregnant  words:  "  Thanks, 
awfully." 

The  two  were  accordingly  sent  off  under  the  care  of 
a  servant,  and,  Lord  Cotswold  having  said  that  he  ex- 
pected them  to  stay  for  luncheon,  they  came  back  in  an 
hour  covered  with  dust  and  victory.  Mr.  Hugo,  indeed, 
was  so  hung  with  cobwebs  that  his  face  gave  little  clew 
to  his  identity,  or  even  his  age  or  sex.  Dr.  Thistlewood, 
who  encountered  them  at  the  top  of  the  back  stairs,  had 
Mr.  Hugo  at  once  taken  off  to  a  dressing-room,  and  then 
turned  to  Miss  Enid,  who  was  keeping  herself  somewhat 
in  the  background.  He  discovered  that  victory  in  her 
case  had  not  been  bought  for  nothing.  She  had  suffered 
a  severe  though  not  a  dangerous  wound  from  a  nail 
which  had  scratched  her  arm,  or,  rather,  torn  it,  above 
the  wrist.  A  bandage,  made  out  of  her  own  and  Mr. 
Hugo's  handkerchiefs,  was  already  getting  pink  with  the 
blood  that  was  soaking  through;  the  result  being  that 
she  had  to  put  her  pride  in  her  pocket,  and  ask,  in  un- 
willing accents,  for  Dr.  Thistlewood's  aid. 

"  I  told  you  to  be  careful,"  he  said,  as  he  brought  her 
to  his  own  sitting-room.  "  This  might  easily  have  been 
a  very  nasty  business.  We  must  wash  it  with  anti- 
septics and  then  bandage  it  properly.  We'll  have  the 
things  brought  in  here,  and  the  housekeeper  will  take 

268 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

you  somewhere  where  you  can  put  yourself  to  rights 
afterward.  Now,"  he  said,  at  last,  when  the  necessary 
operations  were  completed,  "if  you  don't  wear  short 
sleeves  nobody  will  see  anything,  so  you  need  not  go 
and  frighten  that  excellent  lady,  your  aunt.  You  can 
easily  find  an  excuse  for  showing  it  to  me  in  a  day  or 
two,  and  we'll  see  how  it  gets  on.  That  wound — let  me 
warn  you — won't  be  well  for  a  fortnight." 

Miss  Enid,  when  she  appeared  at  luncheon,  exhibited 
to  the  company  no  trace  of  her  late  experiences,  except- 
ing a  slight  paleness  and  a  certain  sobriety  of  manner. 
Her  low  voice  and  her  faintly  humorous  smile  delighted 
Lord  Cotswold,  and  he  presently  began  to  realize  that 
this  pretty  girl  school-boy — for  as  such  he  had  at  first 
thought  of  her  —  was  not  so  scatter  -  brained  as  she 
seemed. 

"Did  you,"  she  said,  abruptly,  during  the  course  of 
the  meal  to  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "  ever  cut  out  any  part  of 
an  animal's  brain  in  order  to  change  its  character?" 

"May  I,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  in  a  tone  which  sug- 
gested that  he  was  not  surprised,  "  ask  the  reason  of  this 
sudden  burst  into  science?" 

"Oh,"  said  Miss  Wynn,  placidly,  "it  was  all  along  of 
that  terrier,  which  hadn't  the  spirit  of  a  cat  in  it.  Dr. 
Gonteau  had  a  friend  in  Leipsic  who  operated  on  a  dog 
like  that.  He  took  out  the  bit  of  its  brain  that  produces 
fear  or  secretes  fear.  Nothing  would  frighten  it  after- 
ward, and  it  became  as  fit  as  a  fiddle." 

"I'm  afraid,"  said  Lord  Cotswold,  "that  I  cannot  en- 
courage Dr.  Gustav  to  cut  up  this  particular  terrier 
with  a  view  to  its  moral  improvement,  since  it  belongs 
neither  to  him  nor  me." 

Miss  Wynn  laughed.  "Well,"  she  said,  "I'll  make 
you  a  present  of  my  own  dog.  Now's  your  chance.  I 
was  going  to  sell  it,  but  if  you  like  to  use  it,  it's  yours 
as  a  free  gift.  I  used  often  to  wonder  what  would  hap- 
pen if  Dr.  Gonteau's  friend  were  to  operate  on  a  nun, 
and  cut  out  the  part  of  her  brain  that  secreted  her  be- 

269 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

lief  in  her  rosary.  You  needn't  look  at  me,  Dr.  Thistle- 
wood,  as  if  you  thought  I  was  an  absolute  fool.  I  know 
quite  well  it  would  be  impossible  to  make  a  nun  reason- 
able in  that  way — or,  perhaps,  in  any  way.  Beliefs  in 
the  brain  must  be  mixed  up  so — just  like  claret  and 
water — that  you  couldn't  take  away  one  without  taking 
away  goodness  knows  what  besides.  But  still  with  some 
feelings — isn't  this  so? — it's  different.  They're  mixed 
up  with  others,  not  like  claret  and  water,  but  like  oil  and 
water,  and  you  can  take  the  oil  away  and  leave  the 
water  behind." 

"Dr.  Gonteau,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "ought  to  be 
proud  of  his  pupil.  Yes,  you  are  quite  right.  Cases  do 
differ,  as  you  say  they  do.  A  surgical  operation  will 
sometimes  make  an  idiot  sane.  Let  us  ask  your  cousin, 
Mr.  Hugo  Arundel,  what  he  thinks  about  it  all." 

Mr.  Hugo  smiled  shyly;  but  a  look  from  Lord  Cots- 
wold  encouraged  him. 

"I  once,"  he  said,  "made  Mr.  Barton  very  angry  by 
telling  him  that  one  of  his  choir-boys,  who  was  caught 
stealing  some  money,  had  probably  received  a  blow  in 
the  neighborhood  of  his  left  ear,  because  the  virtue  of 
honesty  has  its  organ  in  that  quarter;  and  I  told  him 
that  anybody — even  he  himself — if  he  got  hit  there  in 
the  proper  way,  would  at  once  become  a  thief,  and  would 
probably  end  in  prison.  He  looked  so  angry.  I  think 
he  would  have  liked  to  burn  me;  and  then  he  tried  to 
give  a  sort  of  superior  laugh,  and  said:  '  If  you  think 
that  honesty  can  be  destroyed  by  a  chance  blow,  you'll 
next  be  telling  me  that  a  blow  can  destroy  man's  faith 
in  God.  I  hardly  think  you  would  find  many  Christian 
martyrs  to  agree  with  you.' ' 

Mr.  Hugo,  with  his  customary  simplicity,  told  this 
anecdote  unconscious  that  it  left  Mr.  Barton  with  the 
honor  of  the  last  word,  and  went  on  to  explain  that  he 
proposed  to  educate  his  cousin  by  showing  her  that  very 
night  the  beginnings  of  organic  life,  and  a  diagram,  re- 
produced from  Dr.  Thistlewood's,  of  the  Microgamia 

270 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

Socialis,  which  would  give  her  an  idea  of  how  human 
nature  was  put  together,  and  how  virtue,  as  Mr.  Barton 
understood  it,  was  a  compound  of  many  qualities,  and 
might  consequently  be  ruined  by  an  adequate  shock  or 
a  shake,  just  as  easily  as  the  flavor  of  a  crusted  bottle 
of  Burgundy. 

"I  wish,"  said  Lord  Cotswold,  when  they  had  gone, 
"that  Rawlin  could  have  stayed  and  listened  to  them. 
They  approach  life — these  young  people — like  a  child 
patting  a  tiger." 

Sir  Rawlin,  who  was  to  make  an  important  speech 
that  evening,  and  had  gone  back  to  his  hotel  in  order 
to  complete  his  arrangements  for  it,  had  indeed  been 
half  inclined  to  remain  and  see  something  more  of  this 
stranger  who  had  taken  Miss  Vivian's  place.  Freed  as 
he  now  was  from  his  first  overwhelming  anxiety  with 
regard  to  the  possible  consequences  of  his  mad  indis- 
cretion during  the  thunder-storm,  and  forearmed,  as  he 
told  himself,  by  experience  against  any  possible  repeti- 
tion of  it,  he  had  felt  his  old  tenderness  for  the  beautiful 
girl  revive,  and  it  now  resembled  an  affection  which 
might  be  securely  cherished  for  the  dead.  Such  being 
the  case,  Miss  Wynn's  likeness  to  her  predecessor,  com- 
bined with  astonishing  differences  in  point  of  aspect 
and  character,  had  caused  him  to  regard  the  rat-catcher 
with  a  friendly  but  somewhat  critical  interest.  This 
did  not,  however,  prove  strong  enough  to  detain  him 
from  his  practical  duties,  and  he  was  well  content  to 
defer  any  further  acquaintance  with  her  till  his  next 
visit  to  Cliff's  End — an  event  which  could  not  be  distant. 
A  few  days  ago,  for  many  miserable  hours,  he  had  won- 
dered whether  he  could  ever  venture  to  show  himself  in 
that  house  again. 

As  for  Mr.  Barton,  his  glimpse  of  the  new  young  lady 
who  had  looked  him  up  and  down  so  coolly  when  he 
encountered  her  in  her  aunt's  drawing-room,  had  pro- 
duced in  him  a  train  of  emotions  widely  different  from 
Sir  Rawlin's.  Lady  Susannah,  who,  as  soon  as  she  found 

271 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

herself  alone  with  him,  had  conveyed  to  him  Dr.  Thistle- 
wood's  hint  that  in  speaking  to  this  sister  it  would  be 
highly  desirable  to  avoid  any  reference  to  the  other,  was 
met  by  him  with  the  curt  observation  that,  from  what 
he  had  just  seen  of  her,  he  doubted  if  he  and  Miss  Wynn 
were  likely  to  talk  much  about  anything;  and  then  he 
had  plunged  at  once  into  the  subject  nearest  to  his  heart. 

"I  suppose,"  he  said,  "you  have  not  heard  anything 
more — " 

Lady  Susannah  laid  a  kindly  hand  on  his  sleeve. 
"About  Nest?"  she  said.  "No — of  course  not.  My 
dear  friend,  how  can  you  ask?  We  don't  expect  to  do 
so  till  she's  well  enough  to  come  back  to  us.  That  won't 
be  for  three  weeks.  Enid  is  to  be  here  instead  of  her 
for  at  least  three  weeks  or  a  month." 

Mr.  Barton  took  up  the  teacup  which  Lady  Susannah 
had  filled  for  him,  stared  at  it,  and  then  put  it  down 
again,  apparently  unconscious  of  what  his  hands  or  his 
eyes  were  doing.  Then,  with  the  ghost  of  a  laugh,  as 
if  he  were  addressing  the  carpet,  he  said: 

"  Yes,  I  begin  to  see  light  now.  Dr.  Thistlewood  no 
doubt  would  not  wish  me  to  talk  to  this  young  lady 
about  her  sister,  for  fear  I  should  find  out  what  it  is  he 
has  done  with  her.  He  need  not  be  afraid.  I  am  going 
to  be  patient  for  a  day  or  two,  and  then,  when  I  want 
information,  I  will  go  to  Dr.  Thistlewood  himself.  I 
can  promise  him  that  Miss  Enid  Wynn  will  not  suffer 
from  my  attentions. 

"Don't  speak  like  that  about  her,"  said  Lady  Susan- 
nah, gently.  "Whatever  her  manners  may  be,  I'm  sure 
there  is  something  good  in  her;  and  if  she  has  faults — 
even  grave  faults — as  I  think  she  very  likely  has,  you, 
no  less  than  I,  should  surely  try  to  help  instead  of  turn- 
ing away  from  her.  When  I  feel  that  I  know  her  a  little 
better  I  will  write  to  you.  If  her  education  has  been 
neglected,  think  how  you  might  remedy  the  neglect! 
She's  Nest's  sister.  That  should  be  enough  to  recom- 
mend her  to  you." 

272 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

"I  was  wrong,"  said  Mr.  Barton.  "I  felt  hastily  and 
I  spoke  hastily.  If  this  young  lady  desires  any  help  of 
mine,  God  knows  that  I  am  willingly  at  her  service.  A 
great  mental  strain,  like  that  which  I  am  undergoing 
now,  makes  one  at  moments  quite  unlike  one's  self. 
Yes,  write  and  tell  me  about  Miss  Wynn  as  soon  as  you 
have  seen  a  little  more  of  her,  and  if  there  is  anything  I 
can  do  for  her  I  will  do  it,  though  I  have  an  instinctive 
feeling  that  she  will  not  desire  my  aid.  I  will  only  add 
one  thing — a  thing  which  I  came  here  specially  intend- 
ing to  say  to  you.  You  think  me  impatient,  unreason- 
able— -I  could  see  that  from  your  letters.  Well,  I  am 
going  to  be  patient.  I  shall  do  nothing  for  some  days. 
Then  I  shall  go  to  Dr.  Thistlewood,  tell  him  plainly  what 
my  relations  with  Miss  Vivian  are,  and  demand  some 
account  of  what  he  has  done  with  her,  and  of  how  she 
is  getting  on.  If  he  refuses  me  this  information,  I  start 
at  once  for  Cimiez.  I  shall  explain  everything  to  her 
parents,  and  demand  that  there  be  no  more  mysteries." 


CHAPTER   IV 

SUCH  was  the  conversation  which  had,  directly  after 
Miss  Wynn's  arrival,  taken  place  between  Mr.  Bar- 
ton and  Lady  Susannah  regarding  her;  nor  had  Lady 
Susannah  very  long  to  wait  before  she  was  in  a  position 
to  write  to  him,  according  to  her  promise,  and  speak  of 
Miss  Wynn's  character  in  more  definite  terms. 

The  girl,  on  finding  that  her  absence  at  Lord  Cots- 
wold's  castle  had  really  alarmed  her  aunt,  had  exhibited 
a  facile  contrition  which  secured  her  an  immediate  par- 
don. Lady  Susannah,  nevertheless,  was  inclined  to  agree 
with  Mr.  Carlton  when  he  said  to  her  with  uplifted  eyes: 
"My  dear  Susie,  you've  got  a  handful."  Nor,  as  time 
went  on,  did  she  find  this  opinion  modified.  The  very 
next  morning  Miss  Enid  disappeared  again,  and  this 
time  quite  alone,  Mr.  Hugo  being  more  or  less  indis- 
posed in  consequence  of  the  dainties  he  had  consumed 
at  Lord  Cotswold's  table.  To-day,  indeed,  she  was 
punctually  back  for  luncheon;  but  she  had,  as  it  turned 
out,  been  by  herself  to  the  golf-club,  had  explained  who 
she  was,  had  paid  the  required  subscription,  and  had 
spent  a  couple  of  hours  in  beating  and  astonishing  a 
professional,  who  was,  she  observed,  "very  nearly  a  gen- 
tleman." 

From  time  to  time,  however,  her  high  spirits  would 
desert  her,  and  leave  her  in  a  condition  of  subdued  and 
almost  sullen  thoughtfulness.  Lady  Susannah,  who  no- 
ticed these  fits  of  depression,  viewed  them  with  approval 
as  signs  of  some  latent  moral  sobriety,  and  one  of  them 
happening  to  occur  that  same  day  after  luncheon,  she 
judged  the  occasion  favorable  to  a  little  serious  conver- 

274 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

sation.  She  found  the  girl  in  the  drawing-room  on  a  sofa, 
with  her  eyes  half  closed,  and  inflicting  an  occasional 
kick  on  the  cushions  with  a  nailed  boot. 

"My  dear,"  began  Lady  Susannah,  "I  hope  you're 
not  going  to  feel  dull  with  us,"  and  then  went  on  to 
question  her  with  regard  to  her  education,  her  reading, 
her  tastes,  and,  last  of  all,  her  religion. 

"I'm  afraid,"  she  said,  "that  I'm  not  clever  enough 
to  know  what  these  histories  of  religion  are  which  your 
friends  seem  to  have  lent  you,  but  I  recognize  none  of 
the  books  which  I  should  have  thought  it  would  have 
been  right  for  you  to  read.  I'm  very  glad,  of  course, 
that  those  nuns  did  not  try  to  pervert  you ;  but  it  seems 
to  me  that  you've  been  left  with  no  religious  education 
at  all.  I  should  have  been  pleased  myself  if  I  could 
have  seen  you  in  the  morning  at  prayers." 

"My  dear  aunt,"  exclaimed  the  girl,  "I'll  come  like  a 
shot  if  you  want  me  to." 

"I'm  afraid,"  said  Lady  Susannah,  "I'm  very,  very 
old-fashioned,  and  I  don't  quite  understand  such  lan- 
guage; but  I  think  that,  if  you  were  to  come,  it  would 
be  the  right  thing  for  you  to  do.  But  I  must  leave  the 
matter  to  your  own  feelings.  And  now  promise  me  one 
thing — that  you  won't  think  of  your  aunt  as  a  tiresome, 
interfering  old  woman." 

"  Rather  not,"  said  the  girl;  and  in  order  to  emphasize 
her  meaning  she  imprinted  a  brusque  kiss  on  her  aunt's 
somewhat  meagre  hair.  For  the  time  this  closed  the 
subject,  but  at  prayer- time  the  following  morning  Lady 
Susannah  discovered  that  her  words  had  not  been  fruit- 
less. Miss  Enid  was  present  at  the  devotional  rites  of 
the  family,  and  the  demeanor  of  no  worshipper  could 
have  been  more  modestly  appropriate  than  hers. 

After  breakfast  Lady  Susannah  drew  her  aside.  "I 
know,"  she  said,  "that  you  and  Hugo  are  going  to  meet 
Elvira  O'Brian  on  the  golf-ground,  but  come  with  me 
first  for  two  short  minutes  into  my  boudoir.  Dear  Enid, 
I  was  touched  and  pleased  when  I  saw  you  at  prayers 

275 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

this  morning,  and  I  want  to  know  if  you  would  be  will- 
ing to  do  one  little  thing  more.  You  were  good  enough 
to  listen  to  me  yesterday  when  I  questioned  you  about 
your  religious  training,  and  I  do  feel  sure  that  there  are 
many  things  which  you  ought  to  have  been  taught  and 
which  you  haven't  been.  One  can't  inflict  such  sub- 
jects on  people  against  their  will,  but  would  you  consent 
— it  could,  after  all,  not  hurt  you — to  see  Mr.  Barton 
one  day,  and  let  him  talk  about  them,  if  only  for  half 
an  hour?  He's  a  very  clever  and  a  very  learned  man. 
Dr.  Thistlewood  went  to  All  Saints'  on  purpose  to  hear 
him  preach.  You'd  find  him  quite  different  from  those 
ignorant  Roman  Catholic  sisters,  or  from  those  sly,  fat 
priests  whom  I  used  to  see  at  Mentone.  I've  always 
thought  it  a  mistake,  although  I  know  it's  often  done, 
for  the  parents  of  our  Church  to  have  their  children 
taught  in  convents." 

A  slight  pucker  formed  itself  between  Miss  Wynn's 
eyebrows,  and  she  slapped  her  rough,  short  skirt  with 
a  pair  of  loose  gauntlet  gloves. 

"Yes,  you  kind  person,"  she  said,  at  last,  "if  you  wish 
me  to  do  this  I'll  do  it.  Let  him  come  and  talk  to  me 
at  any  time  he  chooses — this  week  or  next,  morning, 
noon,  or  night — and  I  promise  to  listen.  Only  let  me 
have  fair  warning." 

"I  promise  you,"  said  Lady  Susannah,  "that  you 
sha'n't  be  taken  unawares.  I'll  write  to  him  and  ar- 
range a  day." 

The  prospect  of  this  projected  interview,  if  it  did  not 
please  Miss  Enid,  did  very  little  to  discompose  her,  and 
before  she  reached  the  golf-course  she  had  dismissed  the 
matter  from  her  mind.  There,  at  the  door  of  the  club- 
house, she  and  Mr.  Hugo  discovered  Miss  Elvira  await- 
ing them.  Miss  Elvira,  who  had  felt  herself  lately  neg- 
lected for  the  new  cousin,  eyed  Mr.  Hugo  at  first  with 
a  sort  of  reproachful  wistfulness.  On  Mr.  Hugo's  sim- 
plicity this  unspoken  language  was  lost.  He  felt  that 
Miss  Elvira  had  somehow  become  a  bore,  and  with  genial 

276 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

frankness  he  betrayed  the  fact.  But  time  brought  about 
its  revenges.  Miss  Enid,  whom  he  had  hoped  to  patron- 
ize during  the  whole  morning,  expounding  to  her  the 
secrets  of  trajectories  and  initial  velocities,  had  in  an- 
other moment  apparently  forgotten  his  existence.  A 
smart  professional  had  greeted  her  with  a  mixture  of 
respect  and  jauntiness,  the  latter  indicative  of  some  pre- 
vious intimacy,  the  former  of  admiration  for  her  really 
unusual  skill,  and  she  was  soon  deep  in  conversation 
with  him,  tapping  her  boot  with  a  rough  walking-stick 
meanwhile.  Then  from  somewhere  or  other  appeared 
Miss  Elvira's  father,  who,  dressed  in  a  suit  like  a  chess- 
board, and  looking  for  a  worthy  antagonist,  introduced 
himself  by  a  gleam  of  his  eyes  to  her,  and  at  once  pro- 
posed a  match. 

Miss  Enid  turned  to  the  professional.  "Samuel," 
she  said,  "is  he  any  good?  Oh,  he  is,  is  he?  Well,  I 
don't  mind  a  twosome.  I  suppose,  Colonel  O'Brian,  we 
needn't  wait  for  your  daughter  to  tell  us  who  each  of 
us  is.  Hugo,  you  and  the  other  girl  must  look  after 
yourselves.  Hi,  there,  Samuel,  I'll  take  you  on  to-mor- 
row again,  and  between  now  and  then  you  might  look 
me  out  another  cleek." 

Poor  Mr.  Hugo  could  get  no  comfort  from  science; 
but,  a  simple  philosophy  teaching  him  to  make  the  best 
of  the  worst,  he  returned  to  his  old  love  with  a  glow  of 
forlorn  eagerness,  and  realized  that  she  had  one  charm, 
at  all  events,  in  which  her  rival  was  obviously  deficient — 
that  is  to  say,  her  play  was  distinctly  worse  than  his 
own.  The  course  of  their  game  was,  moreover,  en- 
livened by  an  incident  which  enabled  her  to  entertain 
him  with  her  talents  as  a  social  critic.  Leaning  against 
a  gate-post  at  one  end  of  the  enclosure,  scanning  the 
distant  players  with  his  large,  protruding  eyes,  and  only 
made  aware  of  their  presence  by  a  ball  which  approached 
his  feet,  they  came  upon  the  Colonel's  distinguished  for- 
eign friend,  Count  Giordano. 

"Ha,  Miss  O'Brian,"  he  exclaimed,  "I  wish  you  a 
277 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

very  good-morning!  I  strolled  up  here  from  the  town, 
thinking  I  might  find  mon  Colonel.  What  is  your  dad 
doing?  Lady-killing — eh?  Or  what?" 

"I  don't  know  about  killing,"  said  Miss  Elvira, 
brusquely.  "  I  think  it's  more  likely  he's  being  killed. 
You're  safe  to  catch  him  at  the  club-house  as  soon  as 
his  game's  finished." 

"Well,"  said  the  Count,  "I  won't  balk  your  dad  by 
looking  at  him,  and  I  mustn't  balk  you — eh  ? — by  mak- 
ing you  stop  to  talk  to  me.  That  would  be  too  dread- 
ful. But  quick,  Miss  Elvira,  look  there!  You  know 
everybody.  Who  is  that  charming  person — the  person 
in  the  pale-pink  skirt?  She  reminds  me  of  a  certain 
fair  lady  I  once  used  to  know  in  Italy." 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  said  Miss  Elvira,  with  the 
gravity  of  one  who  is  struggling  to  suppress  a  giggle. 
"  If  I  were  you,  I'd  go  and  ask  her  ;  and  if  you  don't 
want  to  be  hit" — here  the  giggle  asserted  itself — "per- 
haps you  won't  mind  standing  out  of  the  way  of  my 
small  ball." 

"  Right  you  are,  my  lady,"  said  the  Count,  with  a  glib 
smile.  "  In  half  an  hour  I  shall  be  looking  out  for  your 
governor  at  the  club-house.  I  know  the  ways  of  golfers, 
and  I'm  not  going  to  spoil  sport." 

The  Count,  sidling  along  the  wall,  was  not  many  steps 
away  from  them  before  Miss  Elvira,  who  had  been  ag- 
ging  herself  with  a  crumpled  pocket-handkerchief,  dis- 
carded all  restraint  and  exploded  in  a  spasm  of  laughter. 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  "  he  does  kill  me!  He  says  that  every 
woman  he  sees  is  like  some  one  he  knew  in  Italy.  The 
pater  thinks  no  end  of  him.  But  oh,  Mr.  Hugo,  shall  I 
tell  you  a  secret?  The  other  night,  when  he  dined  with 
us,  the  Count  wore  an  old  overcoat,  and  Sarah — you 
know  our  parlor-maid — Sarah  said  that  in  the  pocket 
of  it  she  found — what  do  you  think  ?  A  circular  about 
some  patent  fuel  made  out  of  Scotch  peat.  Sarah  thinks 
he's  what  she  calls  a  '  commercial ' ;  and  he  told  the  pater 
that  his  mother  was  the  daughter  of  a  chieftain  in  the 

278 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

Hebrides.  What  fun  it  would  be  if  the  pater  found  him 
out!  And  then  his  impudence!  Mr.  Hugo,  did  you 
hear  him?  Fancy  his  talking  about  the  pater  as  my 
dad  or  my  governor !  Well,  he's  gone,  thank  goodness. 
So  now  let  us  give  my  ball  a  little  initial  velocity." 

"Eh,  O'Brian,  you  seem  to  have  been  in  luck  this 
morning,"  said  one  of  the  Colonel's  intimates  at  the 
club-house  when,  the  Colonel's  game  being  over,  Mr. 
Hugo  and  Miss  Enid  had  departed.  "  That  was  a  pretty 
piece  of  goods  who's  been  knocking  you  into  a  cocked 
hat." 

"He  always  gets  hold  of  the  pretty  ones,  don't  he?" 
said  Count  Giordano.  "  Who  is  the  charmer  this  time  ?" 

"Oh,"  replied  Colonel  O'Brian,  perspiring  with  social 
triumph,  "she's  a  certain  Miss  Wynn — only  been  here 
a  day  or  two — a  niece  of  that  old  girl's,  Lady  Susannah 
Lipscombe.  She's  worth  two  of  that  relation  of  hers 
whom  the  Count  got  very  sweet  on  at  the  ball.  No 
frills;  and,  by  Jove,  you  can  say  what  you  like  to  her! 
She  did  let  the  damns  fly  when  her  ball  got  lost  in  a 
bunker!  I'd  have  walked  her  home  if  I  hadn't  had  my 
own  young  un  here.  Now,  Miss  Pink -cheeks,  are  you 
ready  to  step  it?" 

Mr.  Hugo,  when  once  more  alone  with  his  cousin, 
managed  for  five  minutes  to  avenge  her  recent  desertion 
of  him  by  a  sudden  lordliness  of  demeanor,  meeting  her 
remarks  on  the  excellence  of  the  Southquay  course  with 
the  assertion  that  no  place  was  tolerable  to  which  com- 
mon people  could  get  admission.  But  before  long  he 
thawed,  and  confided  to  her  that  at  his  own  home  he 
intended  to  have  a  private  golf-course  in  the  middle  of 
an  enormous  park,  and  that  the  mansion  should  have 
attached  to  it  a  magnificent  private  laboratory.  Every- 
thing, therefore,  was  sunshine  by  the  time  they  reached 
Cliff's  End,  and  they  spent  the  afternoon  together  in 
examining  some  geological  charts,  in  forming  a  new  esti- 
mate of  the  antiquity  of  the  human  race,  and  in  count- 
ing the  dark  spots  which  had  appeared  in  the  cele- 

279 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

brated  bottle,  each  perhaps  destined  to  be  the  ancestor 
of  some  man  or  monkey  in  the  future.  Mr.  Hugo's  sci- 
entific vocabulary  was  so  much  more  extensive  than  Miss 
Enid's,  and  he  illuminated  so  much  that  was  obvious 
by  means  of  algebraic  symbols,  that  he  now  had  recov- 
ered his  original  moral  ascendency,  and  he  finally  con- 
solidated his  position  by  producing  an  electrical  ap- 
paratus from  a  box,  and  passing  from  the  region  of 
speculation  to  that  of  detailed  experiment.  This  excit- 
ing transition  was  due  to  the  cat  Peter,  who  suggested 
to  Mr.  Hugo  by  miawing  for  a  little  attention  the  repeti- 
tion of  an  old  operation  of  his,  throwing  light  upon 
animal  psychology.  A  piece  of  liver,  obtained  through 
the  old  butler,  was  attached  to  a  copper  wire,  and,  being 
hung  over  the  edge  of  a  table,  the  pendent  delicacy  was 
electrified.  At  this  the  cat  made  a  series  of  enthusiastic 
leaps,  and  every  time  his  paws  or  his  nose  touched  it 
a  comet  of  sparks  leaped  out,  which  amazed  but  did  not 
daunt  him.  Miss  Enid  watched  this  performance  as  if 
she  were  a  child  of  ten  till,  repetition  having  made  it  in- 
sipid, she  longed  for  something  more  exciting. 

"  You've  got  a  Leyden-jar,"  she  said.  "  Charge  it  for 
all  it's  worth,  and  we'll  give  Peter  a  shock.  Now,  Mr. 
Hugo,  you  try  it  yourself.  Touch  the  knob.  You  baby, 
I  don't  believe  you  dare!" 

Mr.  Hugo,  thus  put  on  his  mettle,  unwillingly  obeyed 
her  orders,  and  not  all  his  familiarity  with  occult  forces 
of  nature  could  prevent  his  starting  from  his  chair  and 
ejaculating  a  cry  of  consternation,  while  Miss  Enid  filled 
the  room  with  a  peal  of  delighted  laughter. 

"Now,"  she  exclaimed,  "let's  try  that  on  Peter!" 

Mr.  Hugo,  though  ferocious  in  his  materialism,  had  a 
very  tender  heart. 

"  No,"  he  said — "  no ;  that  would  make  him  quite  wild, 
and  hurt  him." 

But  Miss  Enid's  will  was  the  stronger,  and  with  awed 
disapproval,  but  also  with  considerable  interest,  he 
watched  her  making  her  preparations. 

280 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

"  How  will  you  manage  to  give  it  him?"  he  ventured 
to  say,  at  last. 

For  answer  Miss  Enid  put  the  cat  on  the  table,  gave 
it  a  bit  of  liver,  stroked  it  till  it  began  to  purr,  and  rested 
an  edge  of  the  jar  on  one  of  his  front  paws.  The  train 
was  laid.  An  inch  or  two  from  Peter's  face  was  a  glim- 
mering brass  ball  which  presently  caught  his  attention, 
and  he  mildly  approached  his  nose  to  it,  as  though  he 
desired  to  smell  it.  In  another  second  the  ball  and  the 
nose  touched.  A  globule  of  blinding  brightness  leaped 
into  portentous  existence,  Peter  sprang  into  the  air  as 
though  he  had  been  blown  up  by  gunpowder,  and  then 
rushed  into  a  corner,  where  he  cowered,  the  very  image 
of  terror. 

"Poor  Peter!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Hugo,  overwhelmed 
with  remorse. 

"  Hugo,"  exclaimed  Miss  Enid,  "  I  shall  positively  die 
of  laughing!" 

Then  the  door  burst  open,  and  Miss  Arundel  entered. 

"  What  have  you  two  been  doing  ?"  she  said,  as  though 
scenting  wickedness  in  the  air.  "  You  have  not  been 
giving  Peter  a  shock,  have  you?  That's  your  doing, 
Enid.  How  could  you?"  Miss  Arundel's  eyes  blazed, 
and  anger,  a  rare  emotion  with  her,  made  a  furnace  of 
her  kindly  cheeks.  Her  outburst,  indeed,  was  so  violent 
that  it  ended  by  saving  the  situation.  "I'm  sorry," 
she  said,  relenting,  "  if  I  spoke  to  you  too  crossly.  But 
that  really  was  very  thoughtless  of  you.  Please  don't 
do  it  again." 

"Nina,"  said  Miss  Enid,  with  a  half  smile,  "you're  a 
dear;  and  I  wouldn't  hurt  you,  and  I  wouldn't  hurt 
Peter  for  the  world!" 

So  that  incident  ended;  but  it  opened  Miss  Arundel's 
eyes  to  certain  characteristics  of  her  cousin  which  had, 
without  her  being  aware  of  it,  impressed  themselves  on 
her  mind  already.  Miss  Enid's  instinct  was  to  be  on 
good,  and  even  affectionate,  terms  with  all  the  friends, 
and  even  all  the  acquaintances,  surrounding  her;  but 

281 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

her  consciousness  of  them  was,  for  practical  purposes, 
confined  to  those  on  whom,  from  hour  to  hour,  the  in- 
terest of  her  life  depended.  Thus  for  Lady  Susannah 
she  had  doubtless  a  really  grateful  attachment ;  and  yet 
on  the  morning  of  the  rat-catching  she  had  never  given 
a  thought  to  the  natural  anxiety  which  her  absence 
would  inflict  on  this  kindly  friend.  Mr.  Hugo  she  treat- 
ed in  very  much  the  same  way.  When  she  wanted  him 
he  was  her  confidential  and  also  her  admired  brother. 
At  other  times  he  was  a  forgotten  toy.  She  had  no  de- 
sire apparently  to  give  pain  to  any  one,  but  she  seemed 
unaware  that  any  one  could  be  pained  by  what  gave 
pleasure  to  herself.  For  the  rest,  her  amiability  —  so 
Miss  Arundel  thought — was  almost  too  indiscriminate. 
It  is  true  that  at  lunch  that  day.  after  her  game  with 
Colonel  O'Brian,  she  observed  that  the  Colonel  had  some 
highly  objectionable  friend  with  him,  whose  back — and 
his  back  was  all  she  saw  of  his  person — "gave  her  the 
cold  creeps."  But  against  this  example  of  discrimina- 
tion Miss  Arundel  was  obliged  to  set  Miss  Wynn's 
avowed  predilection  for  the  company  of  Sam,  the  pro- 
fessional, which,  as  she  observed  to  her  aunt,  was  cer- 
tainly "  rather  odd."  Lady  Susannah  agreed  that  "  odd" 
was  the  right  epithet  for  it — the  word  "odd,"  with  such 
ladies  as  these,  being  a  veiled  and  timorous  synonyme 
for  the  terrible  word  "indecent." 

This  comparing  of  notes  between  them  took  place  that 
same  afternoon,  and  Lady  Susannah,  as  a  result  of  it, 
wrote  forthwith  her  promised  letter  to  Mr.  Barton.  Miss 
Wynn,  she  said  to  him,  was  at  heart  thoroughly  amia- 
ble. She  was,  indeed,  even  generous.  She  was,  however, 
wholly  wanting  in  moral  training  and  discipline,  never 
having  had,  so  far  as  Lady  Susannah  could  make  out,  any 
religious  instruction  from  a  member  of  her  own  Church. 

"  If  you  take  her  the  right  way,  I'm  sure  she  will  be  glad  to 
listen  to  you.  Poor  child!  she  told  me  so  herself.  So,  if  you 
would  name  a  time  at  which  you  could  come  and  see  her,  I  will 
take  care  that  she  is  ready  for  you." 

282 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

To  this  communication  Mr.  Barton's  reply  was  prompt. 
He  wrote: 

"I  will,  indeed,  gladly  come,  and  do  the  best  I  can.  I  am 
touched  by  what  you  tell  me  of  the  underlying  goodness  of  your 
young  kinswoman's  disposition.  But  my  visit  to  her,  unless  we 
postpone  it  longer  than  I  think  you  wish,  will  have  to  take  place 
to-morrow  or  the  day  after.  I  must  tell  you  why.  I  have  seen 
Dr.  Thistlewood.  I  explained  the  situation  to  him.  He  lis- 
tened to  me — I  must  in  justice  say  this  of  him — with  the  same 
quickness  and,  indeed,  the  same  sympathy  of  comprehension 
which  he  would  have  shown  had  I  been  some  nameless  patient. 
But  when  I  asked  for  news  he  remained  as  silent  as  the  grave. 
On  Friday  or  Saturday,  therefore,  I  am  going  myself  to  Cimiez. 
I  can  bear  suspense  no  longer.  Meanwhile,  to-morrow  or  next 
day  I  will  call,  preferably  in  the  afternoon,  at  any  hour  you 
choose." 

19 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  sense  of  having  been  detected  in  some  more  or 
less  humiliating  delinquency  affects  different  nat- 
ures differently.  Miss  Wynn's  sense  of  what  had  hap- 
pened to  her  in  connection  with  poor  Peter,  if  it  did  not 
produce  repentance,  produced  a  most  engaging  amend- 
ment. Lady  Susannah  noticed  at  dinner  that  her  whole 
demeanor  was  softened;  nor  the  following  day  did  this 
change  show  any  signs  of  exhausting  itself.  She  an- 
nounced, indeed,  at  breakfast,  with  a  slight  wink  at 
Mr.  Hugo,  designed  as  a  pleasant  reminder  to  him  of  his 
admitted  inefficiency  on  the  golf-course,  that  she  in- 
tended to  play  before  luncheon  her  projected  game  with 
the  professional.  But  she  no  longer  spoke  of  him,  with 
her  former  familiarity,  as  "Sam."  To-day  he  was  "  that 
brown-eyed  man  there,  who's  the  best  player,  by  a  long 
chalk,  I  ever  came  across  in  my  life."  And  even  from 
this  dissipation  it  did  not  take  much  to  divert  her. 

"Hi,  Oswald!"  she  said,  happening  to  encounter  him 
in  the  garden  as  she  was  setting  out  on  her  expedition, 
"you  can  come  along  with  me  if  you've  nothing  better 
to  do.  Look  here!  I'm  going  to  confide  in  you,  and 
ask  you  to  do  me  a  favor.  I  tore  my  arm  the  other 
day  when  Hugo  and  I  were  ratting.  Dr.  Thistlewood 
did  it  up,  and  I  want  him  to  look  at  it  again,  as  the 
plaster  is  getting  loose.  I  shall  have  my  game  first, 
else  he  might  order  me  not  to;  and  you,  my  dear  boy, 
if  you'll  be  mum,  and  if  you  don't  mind  making  yourself 
useful,  may  tramp  with  me  as  far  as  the  golf-course,  and 
then — I'll  tell  you  what.  You  may  go  and  ring  at  the 
castle,  and  tell  Dr.  T.  I'm  coming.  Thank  you.  I  knew 

284 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

you  would.  You  haven't  got  that  pair  of  obliging  black 
eyes  for  nothing.  I  hope  Nina's  forgiven  me  showing 
the  cat  what  a  shock  is.  I  did  get  a  wigging,  didn't 
I?  Well,  step  out,  for  we  haven't  much  time  to  lose." 

They  had,  however,  not  gone  far  when  two  persons 
caught  their  attention  who,  with  faces  set  toward  the 
golf-course,  were  clambering  over  a  distant  stile. 

"  Look!"  exclaimed  Oswald.  "  One  of  those  is  Colonel 
O'Brian." 

Miss  Enid  looked  for  a  moment,  and  then  she  turned 
sharply  round. 

"No,"  she  said — "no.  I  won't  play,  after  all.  My 
arm  really  hurts,  and  I  can't  stand  that  man  with  his 
odious,  staring  friends.  You  go  on  and  just  tell  the 
professional  —  the  freckled  one,  Samuel  Walker  —  that 
I'm  dead  or  have  small -pox  or  have  gone  to  bed  or 
to  America — anyhow,  that  I  can't  come.  And  don't 
bother  about  Dr.  T.  I'll  write  to  him,  and  go  to-mor- 
row." 

"You  were  quite  wise,  Enid,"  said  Oswald,  when  he 
rejoined  her  on  his  return  home,  "in  keeping  clear  of 
this  golf-course.  I  never  saw  such  a  crew  as  there  was 
this  morning  at  the  club-house.  I  gave  your  message  to 
Walker,  and  while  I  was  doing  so  the  Colonel  came  up 
and  stood  listening,  and  he  winked  at  me  and  said, '  How 
is  she  ?'  I  pretended  not  to  know  what  he  meant,  but 
the  creature  wouldn't  take  a  snub.  '  My  own  young 
un,'  he  said,  'thinks  that  the  fair  cousin  is  an  heiress.' 
And  then,  if  you  please,  while  this  monster  was  trying 
to  talk  to  me,  I  looked  round  and  saw  that  some  of  his 
friends  were  listening — a  foreign  animal  among  them, 
smiling  a  damned  inquisitive  smile,  as  if  anything  to 
do  with  you  could  have  any  possible  connection  with  an 
underbred  brute  like  him.  I  merely  said:  '  I'm  afraid, 
Colonel  O'Brian,  that  your  information  as  to  the  affairs 
of  my  relations  is  considerably  more  extensive  than  my 
own.' " 

"Well  done,"  said  Miss  Enid.  "I'm  glad  that  you 
285 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

shut  them  up.  I'm  hanged  if  I  ever  go  and  show  myself 
on  that  beastly  golf-course  again." 

"My  dear,"  said  Lady  Susannah,  to  whom,  in  more 
conventional  language,  she  was  before  long  expressing 
the  same  resolve,  "  I've  just  had  a  letter  from  Mr.  Bar- 
ton, and" — she  here  dropped  her  voice,  for  the  party 
were  going  in  to  luncheon — "  I  hope  the  time  will  suit." 

The  girl  gave  a  nod  of  placid  comprehension  and  ac- 
quiescence, and  Lady  Susannah  was  again  inclined  to 
think  that  she  had  represented  her  to  Mr.  Barton  as 
more  unregenerate  than  she  was.  The  old  Adam,  in- 
deed, remained  in  complete  abeyance  till  the  following 
day,  when  it  reappeared  under  circumstances  the  in- 
fluence of  which  was  not  confined  to  herself.  Lady 
Susannah,  having  started  after  luncheon  on  a  long  round 
of  calls  and  tea-parties,  the  occasional  payment  of  which 
was  a  Christian  obligation  of  her  station,  her  family, 
Mr.  Carlton  included,  were  left  to  the  enjoyment  of  a 
subtle  sense  of  freedom  which  often  springs  from  the  ab- 
sence of  those  from  whom  our  welfare  flows,  and  tea  was 
to  be  a  familiar  feast  in  the  undisturbed  seclusion  of  the 
school-room.  Even  before  the  old  butler  had  begun  to 
bring  in  the  viands  Oswald  had  celebrated  the  occasion 
by  starting  a  waltz  on  the  gramophone,  and  Mr.  Carlton, 
who  had  once  been  a  renowned  dancer,  felt  that  his 
seventy  years  had  reduced  themselves  to  less  than 
thirty.  The  result  was  that,  by  the  time  he  had  eaten 
his  last  tea-cake,  he  desired  that  the  instrument  might 
give  them  a  new  performance,  and  jumping  up  from  his 
chair,  and  seeking  an  open  space,  he  went  through  a 
pas  seul  in  a  way  so  vivacious  and  skilful  that  even  the 
staid  Miss  Arundel  was  dissolved  in  applausive  laughter. 
He  danced,  indeed,  like  a  youth  in  the  fancy  costume  of 
age,  and  he  did  not  stop  till,  his  wig  giving  certain  signs 
of  insecurity,  he  sank  into  a  chair  with  a  lady-like  gasp 
of  exhaustion  and  patted  his  precarious  tresses  with 
both  of  his  ringed  hands. 

"I  haven't  done  that,"  he  panted,  "since  I  did  it  for 

286 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

my  poor  dear  princess.  Shall  I  show  you  how  she 
thanked  me?"  And  he  incontinently  treated  them  to 
a  reproduction  of  a  series  of  royal  mannerisms. 

A  rich  flush  mounted  to  the  cheeks  of  Miss  Enid. 
"You,"  she  said,  "all  of  you,  just  wait  where  you  are. 
I  won't  be  away  for  a  moment."  And,  so  speaking,  she 
disappeared. 

Five  minutes  passed,  and  she  was  once  again  in  the 
school-room.  If  Mr.  Carlton  had  gasped  as  a  conse- 
quence of  his  own  activity,  he  gasped  now  to  very  much 
greater  purpose.  Miss  Arundel,  Oswald,  and  Mr.  Hugo 
did  not  gasp,  but  they  stared.  Their  new  cousin  was  no 
longer  a  girl.  She  was  a  charming  little  Albanian  strip- 
ling with  a  pistol  and  a  dagger  in  her  belt.  A  species 
of  kilt  just  touched  her  knees,  and  up  to  a  point  some 
two  inches  below  them  rose  a  pair  of  scarlet  stockings. 

At  first  Miss  Arundel  hardly  knew  where  to  look,  but, 
fighting  with  the  impulse  to  be  scandalized,  she  finally 
achieved  a  smile.  Miss  Enid,  however,  left  little  time 
for  any  such  preliminary  criticism. 

"Now,  Oswald,"  she  said,  "buck  up  and  move  the 
table.  I'll  show  you  a  dance  which  I  learned  from  Roy 
Fraser,  who  took  the  cake  three  times  at  the  games  at 
Oban." 

Mr.  Carlton  watched  with  enthusiasm  the  animation  of 
the  dancer's  body,  the  naive  and  gallant  effrontery  of 
her  rhythmical  hands  and  feet,  and  her  growing  abandon- 
ment to  an  adventure  which,  inspired  with  the  soul  of 
mischief,  awoke  even  in  Miss  Arundel  no  consciousness 
of  indecorum.  To  Oswald  and  Mr.  Hugo  it  was  the 
mischief  of  the  matter  that  constituted  its  chief  charm; 
but  Mr.  Carlton,  touched  by  mundane  misgivings,  would 
now  and  then  raise  his  eyes  to  the  ceiling  and  murmur: 
"Well,  it's  lucky  that  poor  dear  Aunt  Susannah's  out!" 
The  proceedings,  however,  received  a  far  more  drastic 
check  than  any  which  Mr.  Carlton  would  have  been 
competent  or  indeed  even  wished  to  impose  on  them. 
Just  as  they  were  reaching  their  climax  the  door  was 

287 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

abruptly  opened  by  old  Berry,  the  butler.  For  a  mo- 
ment he  looked  round  him,  not  seeing  Miss  Enid  any- 
where; but  at  last,  recognizing  her  in  the  strange  appari- 
tion before  him,  he  managed  to  articulate: 

"  Mr.  Barton,  miss,  has  called  to  see  you.  Would  you 
wish  him  to  be  shown  in  here?" 

"Not  for  the  world!"  exclaimed  Miss  Enid,  growing 
sober  and  self-possessed  in  an  instant.  "Good  Heavens 
— I'd  quite  forgot!  No — take  him  to  my  sitting-room. 
Offer  him  some  tea,  and  tell  him  I'll  be  with  him  di- 
rectly." 

Oswald  and  Mr.  Hugo  looked  at  each  other,  very  much 
more  delighted  with  this  end  to  the  dance  than  they  had 
been  with  the  dance  itself.  Miss  Enid  already  was  more 
than  sober;  she  was  reflective ;  yet  she  could  not  refrain, 
as  she  turned  to  leave  the  room,  from  giving  Mr.  Hugo 
one  of  her  slight  fraternal  winks. 

"I  must,"  she  said,  "before  I  see  him,  get  a  fresh 
piece  of  sticking-plaster.  That  scratch  on  my  arm  is 
beginning  to  hurt  like  blazes." 

Mr.  Barton,  meanwhile,  had  been  taken  to  the  little 
room  up-stairs  which,  during  Miss  Vivian's  occupation 
of  it,  he  had  visited  only  once,  but  of  which  he  still  re- 
tained a  recollection  vivid  in  its  solemn  tenderness.  His 
heart,  when  he  entered,  ached  with  a  desolating  sense  of 
difference.  The  same  chairs  and  tables  were  standing 
in  the  same  places,  but  most  of  the  books  were  gone  and 
the  little  feminine  ornaments.  On  the  largest  of  the 
tables  lay  a  novel  called  Market  H arbor ough,  a  treatise 
on  spectacular  dancing,  and  a  pocket-book  full  of  fish- 
hooks. The  prie-dieu  in  the  corner  was  laden  with  num- 
bers of  the  Field  newspaper,  and  by  it  was  a  pair  of 
wading-boots  which  Miss  Enid  had  thus  far  found  no 
occasion  to  use.  At  last  he  saw,  as  a  solitary  relic  of  the 
absent,  the  violet  back  of  the  carefully  bound  confirma- 
tion manual,  which  he  had  given  to  the  elect  disciple, 
lying  under  a  magazine  called  Sport.  He  saw  and  suf- 
fered ;  but  he  had  within  the  last  few  days  become  once 

288 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

more  his  own  master,  calmly  prepared  to  use,  in  the  ser- 
vice of  any  soul,  whatever  powers  might  be  his  of  in- 
tellect, of  knowledge,  or  persuasive  spiritual  sympathy. 
Indeed,  his  consciousness  of  these  powers,  whether  pos- 
sessed by  him  as  a  man  or  as  a  priest,  was  on  the  present 
occasion  more  lofty  and  more  distinct  than  usual. 

Presently,  from  the  room  within,  his  new  catechumen 
burst  on  him.  She  was  still  in  her  Albanian  outfit,  and 
was  holding,  pressed  against  her  skin,  a  broad  strip  of 
sable  sticking-plaster,  which,  from  one  of  her  wrists,  ran 
some  way  up  her  arm. 

From  Mr.  Barton's  face  an  austere  though  not  un- 
gentle gravity  disappeared  for  a  moment,  but  only  to 
give  place  to  amazement. 

"I'm  afraid,"  she  said,  very  graciously,  "that  I  can't 
offer  you  my  hand.  I've  scratched,  or  rather  cut,  my 
arm,  and  the  plaster  has  not  quite  stuck  yet." 

Mr.  Barton,  whose  amazement  was  untinged  by  any- 
thing like  offended  primness — for  the  vulgar  trivialities 
of  mere  prudery  were  unknown  to  him — bowed,  looked 
her  up  and  down,  and  said,  with  a  half-smile: 

"Positively,  I  did  not  know  you." 

"  You  find  me,"  she  said,  placidly,  "in  a  rather  uncon- 
ventional get-up.  I  was  showing  my  cousins  a  High- 
land dance  down-stairs ;  and  then  this  beastly  old  scratch 
began  hurting,  and  I  had  to  see  to  it;  and  I  haven't 
stopped  to  change,  because  I  didn't  want  to  keep  you 
waiting.  But  I  know  what  I'll  do:  it  won't  take  me  a 
second." 

She  retired  to  her  bedroom,  and  directly  afterward 
reappeared,  carrying  on  her  arm  a  dressing-gown  of  thin, 
dark  cloth,  on  the  gilt  buttons  of  which  was  the  mono- 
gram of  a  well-known  hunt. 

"If  you,"  she  said,  "would  kindly  give  me  a  pull-on 
with  this,  you'll  find  that  I  look  then  rather  less  of  a 

guy-" 

Mr.  Barton  performed  this  office  with  a  courteous  but 
dry  adroitness,  as  though,  his  first  surprise  being  over, 

289 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

the  incident  were  beneath  his  notice.  If  any  surprise 
was  left  it  had  migrated  to  the  features  of  the  girl,  and 
was  not,  perhaps,  quite  unmixed  with  some  furtive 
traces  of  disappointment.  Anyhow,  her  person  assumed, 
when  enveloped  in  this  new  garment,  an  aspect  of  ma- 
ture and  almost  severe  sobriety. 

"Now,"  she  said,  "sit  down,  won't  you?  My  aunt, 
who  is  goodness  itself,  was  very  anxious  that  I  should 
see  you;  and  really,  Mr.  Barton,  it's  equally  good  of  you 
both  to  trouble  your  heads  about  an  unprofitable  creat- 
ure like  me.  I  sha'n't,  I'm  afraid,  stand  very  high  in 
your  estimation;  but  still,  I  may  tell  you  honestly,  it 
will  interest  me  much  to  listen  to  you.  I've  seen  so  little 
of  this  sort  of  thing  before." 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  perfect  propriety  of  Miss  Enid  Wynn's  language 
and  the  suave  seriousness  of  her  manner  surprised 
Mr.  Barton  even  more  than  the  strangeness  of  her  late 
appearance,  and  in  some  subtle  way — he  could  not  tell 
what — disturbed  him  more. 

"Well,"  he  began,  quietly,  "I'm  not  here  to  talk  gos- 
sip, so  I'd  better  plunge  at  once  into  what  I  have  come 
to  say.  I  presume  that,  nominally  at  least,  you  belong 
to  the  English  Church?" 

"Well,  you  see,"  replied  the  girl,  "I've  been  brought 
up  and  lived  abroad,  and  the  English  Church  there  isn't 
quite  what  it  is  here.  When  I  was  a  youngster  I  went 
to  school,  you  see,  at  a  convent,  faute  de  mieux." 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Mr.  Barton;  "that  happens  very 
often;  but  your  aunt  tells  me  that  the  sisters  didn't 
make  a  Romanist  of  you.  I  may  also  presume,"  he 
went  on,  with  a  faint  smile,  "that  you're  not  a  Wesleyan 
or  a  Baptist  or  a  Plymouth  Sister.  So  I  think  I  may 
take  it  that  your  Church  is  the  presumable  Church  of 
your  father,  though  you  have,  as  I  take  it  also,  not  been 
very  well  instructed.  Anyhow,  there  are  some  things  in 
which  all  Christians  agree,  which  even  children  know, 
if  they  are  not  absolute  heathens,  and  about  which  even 
the  most  heedless  children  must  at  times  think  seriously. 
For  example,  no  one  knows  better  than  a  child  what  con- 
science is.  It  hears  in  it  that  voice  of  God  which  Adam 
heard  in  Eden,  troubling  it  when  it  does  wrong.  Chil- 
dren know  that  God  made  both  the  world  and  them,  the 
dust  of  their  bodies,  and  the  souls  which  for  a  few  days 
or  years  are  cloaked  in  it;  and  they  know  that  when 

291 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

this  dust  is  puffed  aside,  as  it  will  be,  they  will  go,  for 
good  or  evil,  naked  into  God's  presence;  and  though 
they  partly  desire  His  presence  —  for  they  love  their 
Divine  Father — they  partly  fear  it,  for  they  know  how 
often  they  have  offended  Him.  But  for  Christian  chil- 
dren this  terrible  fear  has  its  antidote.  They  are  taught 
how  God,  out  of  His  infinite  love  for  each  of  them,  sent 
His  Son  to  take  all  their  sins  upon  Himself,  and  to  wipe 
out  all  their  stains,  and  to  bring  them  to  His  arms  par- 
doned. You  are — you  must  be — as  well  aware  as  I  am 
that  Christians  of  all  denominations  agree  as  to  these 
simple  points;  and  I  presume  they  are  as  familiar  to 
yourself  as,  in  all  Christian  countries,  they  are  to  the 
humblest  ploughboy." 

The  girl,  who  had,  with  slightly  contracted  brows, 
been  drawing  geometrical  patterns  on  the  back  of  the 
book  on  dancing,  looked  up  when  he  paused,  and  said, 
nodding  assent: 

"  That's  correct  enough.  In  what  are  called  Christian 
countries  most  children — I  myself  was  one  of  them — are 
still  taught  as  much  as  that." 

Mr.  Barton  felt  that  at  last  he  had  found  a  starting- 
point.  The  girl,  if  not  very  responsive,  was  at  all  events 
serious  and  intelligent.  He  accordingly  went  on  to  ex- 
plain to  her,  in  a  matter-of-fact  way,  that  the  great  truths 
of  religion  had  one  sort  of  resemblance  to  the  things  and 
laws  of  nature.  A  child  could  understand  that  fire 
would  burn  its  finger,  or  that  a  clock  on  the  wall  would 
tumble  down  if  it  were  not  for  the  nail  that  held  it.  These 
facts  it  could  grasp  as  well  as  the  most  profound  philos- 
opher. But  these  isolated  facts  were  parts  of  a  great 
system;  and  as  children  grew  up,  and  had  to  grapple 
with  the  world  themselves,  it  was  necessary  for  them  to 
learn  how  these  natural  facts  were  connected.  With  re- 
gard to  supernatural  facts,  the  case  was  just  the  same. 
These,  as  we  grew  up,  had  to  be  grasped  by  us  as  parts 
of  a  system  also ;  and  of  this  spiritual  system  the  Church 
was  at  once  the  exponent  and  a  part.  She  carried  our 

292 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

knowledge  back  to  the  beginning  of  God's  dealings  with 
man,  and  to  the  origin  of  all  our  faults  and  weaknesses, 
and  gave  to  each  of  us,  through  her  sacraments  and 
otherwise,  renewed  strength  to  overcome  them. 

"  I  may  add,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  "that  the  Church,  for 
each  one  of  her  children,  is  a  conscience  beyond  a  con- 
science. The  conscience  of  the  individual  may  sleep, 
but  the  conscience  of  the  Church  never  sleeps.  It  is  a 
constant  reminder  to  all  of  us  of  the  four  last  things — 
things  more  certain  for  all  of  us  than  the  dawn  of  to- 
morrow morning  or  the  publication  of  to-morrow's  news- 
papers: Death,  Judgment,  Heaven,  Hell." 

"  I  was,"  said  the  girl,  quietly,  after  a  certain  interval 
of  silence,  "  looking  the  other  day  into  a  little  book  that 
I  found  here — a  little  book  about  confirmation." 

"Indeed!"  said  Mr.  Barton,  unable  to  suppress  a  sigh. 
"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  so." 

"Of  course,"  she  proceeded,  "you  must  know  what 
that  book  says,  for  you've  given  it,  I  see,  to  somebody 
with  some  very  illegible  initials,  who  was,  I  suppose, 
once  instructed  by  you;  and  the  sort  of  things  which 
that  little  book  says — they  seem  the  sort  of  things  which 
I  remember  to  have  been  told  myself." 

"Ah,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  "so  you  have  had  some  in- 
struction, after  all!  Yes,  you  are  right.  There  is  noth- 
ing in  that  book  which  you  would  not  be  taught  by  any 
Catholic  instructor,  no  matter  of  what  communion." 

"  Well,"  said  the  girl,  "  since  you've  been  good  enough 
to  come  here  and  talk  to  me,  you  won't  mind  my  asking 
you  one  or  two  straight  questions.  Where's  the  little 
book  got  to?  It's  there.  Do  you  mind  tossing  it  to 
me?  Well,  Mr.  Barton,  in  the  first  chapter  I  find  this. 
Let  me  read  it  out:  '  How  is  it  that  we  come  to  have 
a  bad  nature  ?  Because  Adam  sinned,  and  lost  his  like- 
ness to  his  Creator,  and,  having  lost  it,  could  not  trans- 
mit it  to  his  children.  Thus,  even  a  little  baby,  though 
it  may  not  have  done  anything  wrong,  is  born  with  a 
wicked  nature.  It  is  unable  to  do  anything  good.'" 

293 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

"Certainly,"  said  Mr.  Barton.  " I  remember  the  pas- 
sage well." 

"  And  then,"  she  went  on,  "  comes  a  long  bit  about  the 
devil;  and  certain  bad  dispositions  in  us,  such  as  sloth, 
anger,  and  gluttony,  are  specially  mentioned  as  the 
devil's  characteristic  work." 

"  I'm  glad  to  see,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  "  that  you've  been 
reading  the  book  so  carefully.  You  know  more  than  I 
thought  you  did.  What  are  the  difficulties  about  which 
you  desire  to  ask  me?" 

"Well,"  said  the  girl,  looking  up  at  the  ceiling  and 
picking  her  words  carefully,  "  it's  this  way.  You  see,  in 
Italy  and  France  I  suppose  a  good  half  of  the  lower 
classes,  and  most  of  the  women  among  the  upper  classes, 
are  under  the  thumb  of  the  priests,  who  natter  them  up 
or  frighten  them,  and  they  take  all  this  about  Adam 
and  the  devil  literally;  but  educated  men  don't.  Now 
I  want  you,  if  you  don't  mind,  just  to  tell  me  how  it  is 
in  England?" 

"How  what  is  in  England?"  asked  Mr.  Barton.  "I 
don't  quite  follow  your  train  of  thought.  Take  your 
time.  See  if  you  can't  put  it  clearly." 

"Well,"  said  the  girl,  with  a  curious  smile,  "I'll  try. 
Except  for  two  others — and  they  didn't  count  for  much 
— you're  the  first  English  clergyman  I  ever  met  in  my 
life.  As  for  the  rest.  I  only  know  what  I've  heard,  but 
I  know  that  some  of  them  are  in  some  ways  exactly  like 
the  priests  abroad.  If  they  could,  they'd  prevent  di- 
vorce; and  if  any  man  married  a  divorced  woman,  they 
would,  if  they  could,  ruin  the  lives  of  both  of  them,  and 
treat  them  as  if  they  were  thieves  or  murderers.  I 
know  so  much  from  the  case  of  two  of  my  best  friends. 
But  I  won't  let  fly  about  that,  or  I  might  say  something 
I  should  be  sorry  for;  and,  besides,  it's  not  that  which  I 
have  in  my  mind  now.  Look  here — what  I  want  to  ask 
you  is  this.  You  are  the  first  Englishman  I  ever  heard 
talk  about  religion,  and  you're  clever  and  learned,  so 
my  aunt  says,  and  have  written  very  learned  books. 

294 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

Well,  do  you,  as  an  educated  English  clergyman — it 
sounds  awful  cheek  for  me  to  be  asking  you  this — mean, 
when  you  give  people  books  like  this  little  confirmation 
manual,  that  things  like  Adam  and  the  devil  are  to  be 
taken  as  downright  facts?" 

"Your  question,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  "is  a  legitimate 
one.  I  will  pass  by  certain  remarks  with  which  you 
mixed  it  up,  and  for  the  moment  we  will  keep  to  that. 
I  am  glad  to  think  I  can  help  you  by  solving  your  very 
natural  difficulties.  Everything  depends  on  what  we 
mean  by  downright  facts.  The  sceptic  of  to-day,  know- 
ing nothing  of  history,  thinks  that  such  difficulties  are 
new — that  he,  with  his  own  cleverness,  has  been  the  first 
person  to  discover  them,  and  that  they  are  overwhelm- 
ing. It  will  perhaps  surprise  you  to  hear  that  the  early 
Church  saw  them  just  as  clearly  as  he  does — saw  them, 
and  saw  through  them.  As  St.  Augustine  has  clearly 
shown,  we  are  not  bound  to  believe,  and  the  Church  does 
not  teach  us,  that  Adam's  sin  was  the  actual  eating  of 
an  apple,  or  that  the  personal  Spirit  of  Evil  took  the 
actual  form  of  a  snake.  The  Church  teaches  us  only 
that  Adam,  the  common  father  of  us  all,  injured  his  own 
nature,  no  matter  how  or  where,  by  some  act  of  a  de- 
liberately perverted  will,  that  our  natures  have  been 
corrupted  through  his,  and  that  the  personal  Spirit  of 
Evil  was  mysteriously  accessory  to  his  fall.  So  much 
we  are  bound  to  accept  as  facts,  unless  we  are  to  accuse 
God  Himself  of  lying  to  us  through  His  own  Word.  We 
believe  these  essential  facts,  but  they  have  been  told  to 
us  through  symbols  or  allegories.  What  remains  of  our 
difficulties  when  we  look  at  the  matter  thus?  Just  as 
our  own  bodies  prove  both  to  you  and  me  the  existence 
at  some  time  of  the  bodies  of  our  immediate  parents,  so 
the  discord  in  our  own  spiritual  natures  show  that  at 
some  time  or  other  our  first  parent  sinned.  God's  reve- 
lation is  confirmed  by  our  natural  common  -  sense.  And 
as  for  the  devil,  we  are  aware  of  him  every  day,  when- 
ever temptations  to  sloth,  anger,  intemperance,  or  what 

295 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

you  will,  beset  us.  "Why,  then,  should  we  doubt  his 
activity  in  the  remote  past?  Are  you  satisfied  now? 
Or  would  you  like  to  ask  me  something  more?" 

The  girl  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  again  looked  up 
at  the  ceiling,  as  though  she  thought  and  spoke  more 
readily  when  her  eyes  did  not  meet  those  of  her  ques- 
tioner. 

"And  so,"  she  said,  at  last,  "that's  how  the  land  lies, 
is  it? — I  mean,  that's  how  you  and  the  Church  in  this 
country  look  at  things?  Well,  Mr.  Barton,  it's  very 
good  of  you  to  have  come  and  have  taken  the  trouble 
to  put  it  all  so  clearly.  Thank  you  ever  so  much.  I 
understand  quite  enough.  Would  you  have  a  cup  of 
tea?  I  should  only  be  making  a  mess  of  it  if  I  said  any- 
thing more." 

Mr.  Barton  looked  puzzled.  "You  understand  quite 
enough!"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  slight  smile.  "Why,  my 
dear  child,  thus  far  we've  only  touched  on  the  rudiments 
— the  things  every  child  starts  with.  You're  keeping 
something  back.  Let  me  hear  it.  I  sha'n't  be  able  to 
help  you  unless  you  will  tell  me  everything." 

"Do  you  really  mean  that?"  asked  the  girl. 

"Can  you,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  dryly,  "suppose  any- 
thing else?  If  I  were  your  regular  spiritual  director — 
which  I  am  not,  at  least  not  yet — I  should  not  only  ask, 
I  should  order  you,  to  lay  bare  every  perplexity  which 
lurks  in  the  recesses  of  your  mind." 

"Well,"  said  the  girl,  "if  what  I  say  doesn't  please 
you,  you  mustn't  blame  me — that's  all.  Since  you  order 
me,  I'll  obey  orders.  I'd  better  begin  by  telling  you  just 
how  I've  been  educated.  I  haven't  had  much  schooling 
— not  since  I  left  the  convent;  but  I've  known  one  or 
two  of  the  cleverest  men  in  France,  and  I  knew  some 
clever  men  in  Egypt,  too,  and  they  liked  teaching  and 
showing  things  to  a  kid;  so  I've  picked  up  a  good  few 
of  the  facts  that  are  generally  known.  Well,  Mr.  Bar- 
ton, if  you  will  have  the  exact  truth,  here  goes.  When 
you  talk  to  me  about  Adam  as  a  man  who  was  originally 

296 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

perfect,  and  who  then  suddenly  did  something  —  it 
doesn't  much  matter  what — which  put  him  out  of  order 
himself,  and  the  whole  human  race  along  with  him,  and 
about  a  devil  —  whether  he  was  a  snake  or  no  —  who 
managed  to  make  him  do  it;  and  when  you  talk  about 
the  book  of  Genesis  being  the  grounds  on  which  we  be- 
lieve this,  because  Genesis,  even  if  only  an  allegory,  is 
God's  own  Word  put  by  Him  into  the  mouth  of  Moses — 
when  you  talk  in  this  way  you  might,  so  far  as  I  am 
concerned,  just  as  well  be  talking  about  old  Deucalion's 
stones,  or  the  dragon's  teeth  of  what's-his-name,  or  be 
telling  me  that  the  earth  is  held  up  by  an  elephant  and 
the  elephant  held  up  by  a  tortoise.  Why,  in  Egypt — 
Mr.  Barton,  please  don't  interrupt  me — I've  seen  imple- 
ments that  were  ten  thousand  years  old  before  the  Church 
makes  out  that  Adam  was  born  or  thought  of.  And 
when  you  talk  about  the  first  man  having  been  perfect, 
and  then  having  committed  a  sin — I  have  been  taught 
that  the  first  man — Dr.  Gonteau  has  a  model  of  his 
bones  which  were  found  in  Java — that  the  first  man  was 
a  creature  you  could  hardly  have  distinguished  from  a 
monkey.  And  then,  Mr.  Barton,  about  anger  and  all 
that — what  I've  been  taught  is  this,  that  men  are  angry, 
not  because  of  the  devil,  but  because  what  we  call  anger 
is  a  kind  of  protective  instinct,  without  which  no  species 
could  have  survived  in  the  struggle  for  existence.  And 
as  for  the  origin  of  sloth — sloth  comes  from  a  bad  liver 
or  else  a  relaxing  climate.  And  then,  look  at  hounds. 
One  hound's  a  bad  feeder,  another's  what  you  call  a 
glutton.  Do  you  think  the  devil  keeps  a  staff  at  the 
kennels  ?  That's  how  I've  been  taught  to  look  at  things. 
The  murder's  out  at  last,  and  I'm  sure  you  think  I'm 
not  fit  to  stay  in  the  room  with  any  longer." 

Mr.  Barton,  however,  showed  no  inclination  to  go. 
On  the  contrary,  he  seemed  to  be  bracing  himself  for  a 
far  from  hopeless  struggle. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  said,  with  an  icy  but  not  an  unfriendly 
sarcasm,  "that  your  preceptors,  who  seem  to  have  been 

297 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

writers  for  the  cheap  rationalist  press,  forget  to  notice 
that  men  differ  from  hounds  in  the  trifling  particular 
that  they  are  possessed  of  immortal  souls." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "that's  just  it.  If  you  really  believe 
in  an  immortal  soul  at  all,  I  suppose  you  can  believe 
anything." 

Mr.  Barton's  answer  somewhat  surprised  his  hearer. 
"Certainly,"  he  said,  with  an  assenting  inclination  of 
the  head;  "of  course  you  can.  Do  but  reflect  on  the 
miracle  of  your  own  soul's  existence,  and  you'll  soon 
realize,  if  you  honestly  desire  the  truth,  that  nothing 
which  the  Church  teaches  is  in  itself  incredible.  I  don't 
despair  of  your  finding  the  Light  yet.  But  I  must  con- 
fess— you  poor,  unfortunate  child — that  you're  not  at 
present  very  fit  to  become  a  candidate  for  confirmation, 
which,  I  think,  is  what  your  aunt  would  wish  you  to  be." 

"Oh,"  said  the  girl,  "confirmation!  She  may  make 
herself  easy  about  that.  Bless  you,  I've  been  confirmed 
already.  I'm  rather  confused  about  time,  but  ever  so 
many  years  ago." 

"You  astonish  me!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Barton.  "And 
have  you  ever  been  to  holy  communion?" 

"I  very  nearly  didn't,"  she  replied,  "just  to  spite 
that  old  image  of  a  priest  who  made  me  sick  with  his 
twaddle  about  the  month  of  Mary.  But  the  sisters 
seemed  to  wish  it,  and  they  weren't  bad  creatures,  so  I 
went.  I  shouldn't  do  so  now.  It  would  make  me  feel 
too  much  of  a  fraud.  Besides,  why  should  I  ?  There'd 
be  no  object  in  it." 

The  last  words,  said  with  perfect  simplicity,  made 
Mr.  Barton  for  the  moment  completely  lose  his  bearings. 
He  rose  as  though  he  would  leave  the  room,  but  he  did 
not.  He  stood  looking  down  at  her.  Nothing  of  him 
stirred  but  his  lips,  which  twitched  with  anger.  Then 
with  an  effort,  which  invested  him  with  a  curious  dig- 
nity, he  forced  himself  into  another  mood. 

"And  so,"  he  began,  in  words  whose  calm  had  a  pain- 
ful quiver  in  it,  "you  see  no  object  in  approaching — in 

298 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

receiving — what  words  shall  I  use? — the  body  of  Him 
who  died  for  you?  Unhappy,  most  unhappy  girl — you 
are  without  a  Saviour — I  might  almost  say  without  a 
God — I  might  almost  say  without  a  soul — so  you  are 
determined  to  think  till  the  day  comes  when  you  will 
be  called  on  to  face  all.  You  will  then  know  that  you 
have  a  soul,  which  the  hound  has  not — a  soul  eternal, 
indestructible,  responsible  for  every  act  and  thought — 
a  soul  for  which  Christ  suffered,  but  for  which  —  for 
which  I  will  pray,  for  at  present  I  can  do  nothing  else, 
that  He  may  not  have  suffered  in  vain.  And  for  what 
have  you  blinded  your  eyes  to  all  that  is  most  real  in 
existence — to  the  only  things  that  will  exist  when  this 
world  of  brute,  lifeless  matter  shall  have  passed  away 
like  a  shadow?  You  have  blinded  your  eyes,  you  have 
abandoned  reverent  knowledge,  for  the  sake  of  all  igno- 
rance which  may  flatter  your  foolish  pride,  and  call  itself 
by  the  names  of  science  and  scientific  history,  but  which 
really  is  as  ridiculous  for  the  educated  human  intellect 
as  the  fetish-philosophy  of  the  most  abject  savages — 
even  though  two  of  the  cleverest  men  in  France  may 
profess  it.  Before  I  go,  let  me  ask  you — have  you  noth- 
ing more  to  say  to  me?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  girl.  "I  should  like  to  ask  you  one 
more  question.  Would  you,  like  the  priests  abroad,  if 
priests  had  everything  in  their  power,  prevent  divorce  ? 
Or,  if  divorced  persons  married,  would  you  treat  them 
as  outcasts  and  set  all  the  world  against  them?" 

"  I  have  no  objection,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  "  to  answering 
you.  The  Church  accords  no  treatment  to  divorced  per- 
sons who  marry,  for  in  the  eyes  of  the  Church  no  such 
persons  exist.  Marriage  being  indissoluble,  real  divorce 
is  impossible,  and  if  those  nominally  divorced  contract 
a  nominal  marriage  they  are  no  better  than  those  shame- 
less ones  whose  very  name  I  shrink  from  pronouncing 
to  you." 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  girl,  with  a  sudden  gleam  in 
her  eyes.  "  You  needn't  be  squeamish.  Among  the 

ao  299 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

shameless  ones  are  my  own  parents.  Yes — it's  just  as 
I  thought.  Clericalism  in  England  is  the  same  as  cleri- 
calism in  France.  Why  don't  you  shut  your  eyes  so 
as  not  to  see  a  child  of  shame?  Yes — shut  them — do, 
for  I've  still  something  more  to  say.  I  believe  people 
are  married  who  suit  each  other,  and  as  long  as  they  suit 
each  other,  and  the  law  imposes  conditions  on  them  for 
the  sake  of  social  convenience — because  of  children  and 
family  property;  and  priests  pretend  otherwise,  and 
talk  about  mysteries  and  sacraments,  only  because  they 
want  always  to  be  getting  the  whip-hand  of  everybody, 
and  they  want  to  frighten  everybody ;  and  they  dress  up 
a  lot  of  bogies  called  sins,  or  the  four  last  things,  hoping 
that  people  to-day  will  still  take  these  scarecrows  seri- 
ously. That  was  all  very  well  for  them  once,  but  now 
they're  being  found  out.  You  talk  about  the  four  last 
things.  People  know  now  that  for  themselves  there's 
only  one  last  thing — that's  death ;  and  that  for  the  uni- 
verse there's  no  last  at  all.  You  tell  me  I  shall  live  again, 
and  then  find  out  my  mistake;  and  as  soon  as  I  hear 
you  say  this,  you  expect  me  to  shake  in  my  shoes.  You 
might  just  as  well  tell  a  diseased  potato  that  it  would  live 
again,  and  then  find  out  that  its  disease  was  its  own  fault, 
and  be  roasted  forever  in  consequence  before  some  ever- 
lasting stove.  Nature  makes  us  what  we  are,  just  as  it 
makes  potatoes;  and  when  you  ask  me  to  believe  that 
a  bishop  by  feeling  my  head  with  his  fingers,  or  shaking 
his  silly  ring  at  me,  can  make  me  any  better  or  any  worse 
than  I  am,  or  that  a  priest  has  anything  to  do  with  the 
rights  or  the  wrongs  of  marriage,  you  might  as  well  ask 
me  to  do  what  they  did  in  the  French  Revolution — stick 
up  what  you  would  call  some  shameless  one,  and  worship 
her  as  the  goddess  of  reason.  I  can  tell  you  this — you 
must  remember  that  I  speak  by  your  order:  if  you  want 
me  to  worship  any  individual  whatever,  I'd  far  sooner 
worship  Dr.  Gonteau  or  Dr.  Thistlewood  than — " 

"Silence!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Barton.     "I  forbid  you  to 
say  a  word  further."     And  there  was  something  in  his 

300 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

manner  by  which  the  girl  was  cowed.  "  I  will  not,"  he 
continued,  "  ask  you  to  consult  your  conscience,  for  you 
say  you  have  none.  I  will  only  remind  you  that  a  lady, 
whatever  her  religious  views,  is  usually  sorry  if  she  has 
insulted  and  given  acute  pain  to  an  invited  and  a  friend- 
ly guest.  I  would  fain  be  your  friend  still,  though  no 
good  purpose  would  be  served  by  my  remaining  with 
you  longer  now;  and  if  for  some  time  to  come  I  make 
no  attempt  to  see  you  again,  my  reason  is  not  that  I  re- 
sent your  demeanor  to  myself  personally,  but  that  to- 
morrow I  am  leaving  England  for  a  somewhat  uncertain 
period.  You  will  not  wish  to  shake  hands  with  me; 
and  I  fear  that  at  this  moment  I  could  not  bring  myself 
to  touch  yours." 

"Mr.  Barton,  look  here,"  cried  the  girl,  as  the  priest 
was  disappearing  through  the  doorway,  "if  I  hit  you 
below  the  belt,  I'm  sorry;  but  you  should  not  have  put 
my  back  up  and  pitched  into  my  parents.  It's  not  you 
I  hate,  it's  the  system  you  represent.  Damn  him,  he's 
gone.  These  idiots  always  put  you  in  the  wrong  if  they 
can,  and  then  run  away  like  cowards,  thinking  they've 
bowled  you  out.  Anyway,  he  won't  be  here  to  get  me 
into  a  row,  and  when  he  comes  back  I'll  let  him  have  it 
again." 

Mr.  Barton  escaped  from  the  house,  sick  with  a  sense 
of  horror,  as  a  man  might  be  who  for  the  first  time  has 
seen  a  human  being  killed  or  befouled  by  some  loath- 
some pestilence.  The  general  fact  that  a  moral  and  in- 
tellectual rabble,  abetted  by  men  like  Dr.  Thistlewood 
and  the  excavators  of  bones  at  Southquay,  were  foment- 
ing all  over  the  world  a  rebellion  against  God  and  Christ, 
was  for  him  so  familiar  that  it  filled  him  with  a  chronic 
and  contemptuous  animosity ;  but  except  in  the  persons 
of  such  men  as  Dr.  Thistlewood,  who  were  chance  and 
distant  acquaintances,  and  who  veiled  their  absurdities 
by  discretion,  he  had  never  had  a  bodily  encounter  with 
the  accursed  thing  before;  and  now  its  fangs  had  been 
darted  at  him  from  the  lips  of  a  young  girl.  The  memory 

301 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

of  her  blasphemies  seemed  to  lick  him  like  tongues  of 
flame.  Sometimes  his  heart,  as  he  thought  of  her,  grew 
hard  as  flint ;  sometimes  it  was  almost  broken ;  and  then 
in  the  middle  of  his  perturbations  one  thing  came  sud- 
denly back  to  him — the  words  which  had  passed  between 
him  and  her  as  to  marriage.  If  she  were  a  child  of  shame, 
what  was  his  own  loved  one  ?  And  was  not  he  personal- 
ly preparing  to  throw  himself  on  the  good-will  of  those 
parents  whom  he  had  allowed  himself  so  justly,  yet  per- 
haps unadvisedly,  to  denounce?  Such  reflections  sad- 
dened but  they  did  not  daunt  him.  They  exhausted 
themselves  in  a  prayer — "  Lord,  help  me  to  rescue  her 
from  their  unhappy  hands."  By  the  earliest  train  next 
morning  he  was  to  start  on  his  pilgrimage  to  Nice. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THAT  evening  Miss  Enid  was  curiously  silent.  To 
Lady  Susannah  this  seemed  an  excellent  symptom, 
and  she  said  to  her  on  the  landing,  as  they  both  were 
on  their  way  to  their  bedrooms: 

"  I  hope,  my  dear,  that  you  got  on  well  with  Mr.  Bar- 
ton." 

"Yes,"  said  the  girl,  demurely.  "I  told  him  every- 
thing— perhaps  even  more  than  I  had  meant  to  do." 

Lady  Susannah  took  her  by  the  hand  and  kissed  her. 
"Good-night,  dear  Enid,"  she  said.  "I  am  very,  very 
glad.  Sleep  well,  my  dear." 

This  last  injunction,  however,  Miss  Enid  did  not  obey. 
The  image  of  Mr.  Barton  haunted  her  and  drove  rest 
from  her  pillow.  Had  he  lost  his  temper  and  stormed 
at  her,  her  feelings  would  have  been  less  acute.  It  was 
his  self-control  that  exasperated  her,  his  tone  of  unper- 
turbed superiority,  his  daring  to  speak  about  orders 
which  conceivably  it  might  be  his  duty  to  impose  on 
her.  "This  solemn  jackanapes,"  she  said  to  herself, 
"talking  the  twaddle  of  his  grandmother,  and  pre- 
suming to  tell  his  dear  child  how  the  world  was  made, 
when  there  isn't  a  gamin  in  a  state  school  who  doesn't 
know  ten  times  more  about  the  origin  of  the  world  than 
he!  This  thing  of  cassocks  and  petticoats  shaking  his 
Adams  and  his  sacraments  at  me,  as  if  they  were  a 
baby's  rattle — he  to  pronounce  his  judgments  on  my 
father,  my  mother,  and  myself!  He  to  pronounce  an 
opinion  on  what  his  dear  child  ought  to  do  or  ought  not 
to  do!  I'll  give  him,"  she  thought,  "by  the  time  he 
gets  back,  something  or  other  to  pronounce  upon ! 

3°3 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

I'll  make  him  sit  up!     He  shall  see  if  he  can  direct 
m*\" 

Here  was  resolve  at  last,  which  had  the  effect  of  sooth- 
ing her,  and,  shorn  of  certain  exaggerations,  it  was  fresh 
in  her  mind  next  morning.  Directly  after  breakfast, 
with  a  new  light  in  her  eyes,  she  drew  Mr.  Hugo  into 
a  corner  and  held  him  in  a  whispered  conversation,  of 
which  Oswald  was  somewhat  jealous  till  he  happened  to 
catch  a  few  words  of  it,  and  gathered  that  it  had  reference 
to  some  species  of  mechanical  invention.  Whatever  the 
secret  was,  Mr.  Hugo  was  visibly  delighted  with  it,  and 
Oswald  heard  him  say : 

"  Yes,  of  course,  you  could  hire  one;  but  if  I  were  to 
have  one  of  my  own,  I  should  not  expect  to  get  it  for 
less  than  fifteen  hundred  pounds." 

"Well,"  said  Miss  Enid,  "you  must  do  the  best  you 
can  for  me.  I  sha'n't  go  out  till  it  comes.  I'm  sick  of 
that  rotten  golf-course  and  the  sort  of  people  you  meet 
there.  I  don't  mean  Sam.  I  mean  the  men  who  call 
themselves  gentlemen,  like  that  creature  with  a  cringing 
back — I've  seen  another  back  like  it — who  wanted,  so 
Oswald  tells  me,  to  know  if  I  was  an  heiress.  Sam's 
worth  the  whole  boiling  of  them." 

The  following  day  at  luncheon  Mr.  Hugo's  face  was  so 
troubled  by  futile  efforts  to  suppress  an  important  smile 
as  to  bring  to  Oswald  the  certainty  that  something  or 
other  had  been  accomplished;  and  the  mystery  of  the 
plot  was  destined  very  soon  to  reveal  itself.  The  meal 
was  drawing  to  its  close  when  the  quiet  of  the  old- 
fashioned  room  was  broken  by  certain  sounds  which 
Lady  Susannah  took  for  the  trumpetings  of  a  brass- 
band  at  the  door.  She  was  expressing  this  view  when 
Miss  Enid,  who  was  listening  with  grave  intentness,  ex- 
claimed, jumping  up  from  her  seat: 

"Mr.  Hugo,  it's  come!  it's  come!  What  fun,  Aunt 
Susannah!  We  must  go  to  the  door  to  look  at  it!" 

"It?"  repeated  her  aunt.  "What  do  you  mean  by 
'it'?" 

304 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

"Oh,"  said  Miss  Enid,  rapidly,  "the  motor  I've  hired 
for  a  fortnight.  Didn't  you  hear  it  tootling  ?  I  can  al- 
most smell  the  petrol.  I'll  take  you  to  Plymouth  and 
back  in  it  before  you  can  say  '  knife.' " 

Lady  Susannah  felt  much  like  the  proverbial  hen  when 
she  sees  the  duckling  hatched  by  her  first  take  to  the 
water.  She  was  soon,  however,  at  the  front  door,  to- 
gether with  the  rest  of  the  party,  and  there,  with  a  man 
attached  to  it,  pale  of  face  and  habited  in  black  leather, 
stood  a  long  and  powerful  car  which  would  accommo- 
date some  five  passengers. 

"Does  she  run  all  right?"  said  Miss  Enid,  with  a  nod 
of  freemasonry  to  the  man. 

"Sweet  as  can  be,"  he  replied,  with  the  usual  taci- 
turnity of  his  class. 

"Now,"  said  Miss  Enid,  "who's  game  for  an  outing? 
Don't  all  speak  at  once.  You,  Aunt  Susannah?  You, 
Cousin  George  ?  I  won't  have  you,  Oswald.  You  look 
much  too  superior.  Well,  settle  it  among  yourselves, 
and  I'll  take  her  down  the  drive  and  back  again  just  to 
see  how  she  climbs  the  hill." 

"  My  dear!"  exclaimed  Lady  Susannah,  horror-stricken 
by  the  sight  of  her  niece,  who  was  already  in  the  driver's 
seat.  "  You  are  not  going  to  try  to  manage  that  thing 
yourself!  And  without  a  hat,  too!  George,  do  you 
think  it's  right?" 

"Bless  your  heart!"  said  Miss  Enid,  "I  drove  a  car 
in  the  race  last  year  between  Cannes  and  Toulon." 

The  man,  who  meanwhile  had  got  the  engine  in  mo- 
tion, hereupon  took  his  place  at  her  side,  and  the  vehi- 
cle, performing  a  very  adroit  evolution,  swept  away  from 
the  doorstep  and  vanished  between  the  walls  of  laurel. 

"I  do  hope,"  gasped  Lady  Susannah,  "that  nothing 
dreadful  will  happen  to  her." 

"I  hope  so,  too,"  said  Mr.  Carlton;  "but  there's  a 
terrible  corner  at  the  bottom." 

These  alarms,  however,  were  not  of  very  long  dura- 
tion. Before  five  minutes  were  over  a  hooting  was 

305 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

again  heard,  and  the  car  burst  from  the  laurels  and 
arrested  itself  at  the  door-step  panting.  No  sooner  had 
this  happened  than  a  certain  change  was  perceptible. 
The  professional  mechanician  had  been  relegated  to  a 
back  seat,  and  the  seat  next  the  driver  was  occupied  by 
Sir  Rawlin  Stantor. 

"He  was  coming  to  call,"  said  Miss  Enid,  "so  I  just 
made  him  jump  up." 

The  cordial  welcomes  with  which  Sir  Rawlin  was 
greeted,  together  with  the  obvious  fact  of  Miss  Enid's 
proficiency  as  a  charioteer,  combined  to  repress  all 
further  comments  on  her  recklessness.  Orders  were 
given  that  the  car  should  wait  at  the  door,  and  Sir 
Rawlin  was  brought  in  to  the  sound  of  many  reproaches 
for  his  late  remissness  in  visiting  Cliff's  End  and  its  oc- 
cupants. He  explained  that  of  late  his  time  had  been 
taken  up  with  addressing  electors  in  the  outlying  parts 
of  the  constituency,  and  that  he  had,  moreover,  been 
engaged  in  some  personal  canvassing  also. 

"  How  soon,"  asked  Miss  Enid,  "  do  you  mean  to  have 
another  go  at  it?" 

Sir  Rawlin  replied  that  he  intended  that  same  after- 
noon to  call  on  some  electors  in  a  fishing  town  about  ten 
miles  distant. 

"Oh,"  said  Miss  Enid,  "you  just  come  with  me.  I'll 
rattle  you  to  Jericho  and  back  in  less  than  no  time,  if 
you  want  it.  And  look  here,  Oswald — you've  some- 
thing to  say  to  him  about  your  embassy.  You  can  come, 
after  all ;  and  of  course,  Mr.  Hugo,  you.  The  more  the 
merrier.  Now,  Sir  Rawlin,  are  you  afraid?" 

Sir  Rawlin  declared,  with  a  laugh,  that  he  had  never 
been  afraid  of  anything,  and  matters  were  actually  ar- 
ranged in  the  way  that  Miss  Enid  had  suggested.  Sir 
Rawlin  stipulated  only  that  her  pace  should  not  be 
illegal,  and  that  she  should  not  kill  his  constituents  be- 
fore they  had  had  time  to  vote  for  him.  Oswald,  who 
had  heard  from  Lady  Conway  that  she  would  be  back  at 
Southquay  for  Easter,  was  no  longer  so  anxious  as  he 

306 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

had  been  to  start  for  Constantinople  immediately,  and 
was  able  to  enjoy  the  expedition  without  ulterior  ob- 
jects; while  Mr.  Hugo,  who  was  engaged  with  a  stop- 
watch in  timing  the  vehicle  by  the  mile-stones,  and  pub- 
lishing the  results  to  his  companions,  almost  felt  as 
though  he  were  himself  the  inventor,  and  talked  about 
cranks  and  cylinders,  carburetters,  gears,  and  batteries 
in  a  manner  so  abstruse  and  impressive  that  the  mecha- 
nician was  struck  dumb.  Every  one,  in  short,  was  de- 
lighted ;  and  as  for  Miss  Enid  herself,  she  presently  found 
other  excitement  beyond  the  exhilaration  of  driving. 
She  discovered  in  Sir  Rawlin  an  extraordinarily  agree- 
able companion.  With  a  happy  adaptability  he  made 
her  vocabulary  his  own;  and  exhibited  so  fraternal  an 
interest  in  her  sports,  her  escapades,  and  her  opinions, 
that  she  not  only  told  him  how,  on  the  occasion  of  her 
visit  to  Egypt,  she  had  ridden  into  the  desert  astride,  and 
dressed  up  as  an  Arab,  but  also  revealed  in  confidence  the 
details  of  her  encounter  with  Mr.  Barton,  "who,"  she  add- 
ed, "thank  goodness,  has,  I  hear,  popped  over  to  France." 

Nor  did  matters  end  here ;  for  when  they  reached  their 
destination  and  Sir  Rawlin  introduced  himself  to  some 
fishermen  who  were  lounging  about  the  quay,  she  in- 
sisted on  sticking  close  to  him  and  listening  to  all  he 
said.  Presently  she  began  making  friends  with  these 
weather-beaten  strangers  on  her  own  account,  and  her 
ready  indignation  at  everything  which  they  seemed  to 
regard  as  grievances  had,  so  Sir  Rawlin  assured  her, 
secured  for  him  more  adherents  than  all  the  opinions  or 
promises  set  forth  by  himself.  In  the  shop  of  the  prin- 
cipal draper  she  was  no  less  successful.  Sir  Rawlin  and 
the  man,  who  was  a  Methodist,  were  discussing  religious 
education,  when  Miss  Enid,  who  was  seated  on  the 
counter,  interposed  with  a  "Yes — that's  right.  Don't 
knuckle  under  to  the  priests.  Sir  Rawlin  knows  their 
tricks  every  bit  as  well  as  I  do." 

"I  wish,"  said  Sir  Rawlin,  as  they  were  returning, 
"that  I  had  you  for  a  canvasser." 

307 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

"What!"  she  exclaimed;  "do  you  mean  that?  I'll 
tell  you  what,  then — you  shall  have.  I  suppose  I  must 
pick  up  a  bit  of  the  lingo  first,  but  I'll  drive  you  about 
and  listen.  I  sha'n't  be  long  in  learning." 

"  Well,"  said  Sir  Rawlin,  laughing,  "if  your  aunt  makes 
no  objection,  and  if  you  bring  these  cousins  of  yours,  or 
Mr.  George  Carlton,  as  a  chaperon,  I  should  often  be 
ready  to  say,  in  your  own  language:  '  Done  with  you.'  " 

The  result  was  that  during  the  next  few  days  Miss 
Enid  Wynn,  in  her  motor,  driving  the  Conservative 
candidate  and  accompanied  by  one  of  her  cousins,  be- 
came a  frequent  sight  in  Southquay,  though  a  com- 
plication of  veils,  and  occasionally  a  pair  of  goggles, 
would  have  made  it  difficult  even  for  Lady  Susannah 
to  recognize  her.  All  the  voters  whom  she  addressed — 
from  shopkeepers  down  to  knots  of  workmen — suppos- 
ing her  to  be  a  relative  of  Sir  Rawlin's,  and  not  knowing 
her  name,  were  delighted  with  her.  On  anything  male 
she  had  the  knack  of  bestowing  an  attention  which  had 
something  in  it  of  individual  flattery,  and  was  totally 
different  from  the  condescension  of  any  general  gra- 
ciousness.  All  this  had  its  advantages.  At  the  same 
time  it  had  its  drawbacks,  which  Sir  Rawlin  explained, 
in  answer  to  a  question  of  Dr.  Thistlewood's,  when,  be- 
fore things  had  gone  far,  he  was  dining  at  the  Turkish 
Castle. 

"Miss  Wynn,"  he  said,  "though  a  crude,  is  a  very 
acute  young  lady — much  more  so  than  one  would  fancy 
when  first  one  hears  her  speak.  She  picks  up  political 
arguments  as  quickly  as  she  does  scientific;  but  she's 
too  great  an  aptitude,  when  she  talks  to  any  voter  who 
is  not  decrepit,  for  turning  his  head  in  addition  to  his 
prospective  vote.  One  can  see  what  happens  from  the 
way  in  which  she  speaks  of  it  afterward.  'The  man,'  she 
will  say,  '  with  the  curly  hair  told  me  this ' ;  or  '  The  man 
with  the  mole  on  his  cheek  and  the  laughing  mouth  told 
me  that.'  And  I  caught  her  indorsing  her  satisfaction 
with  the  views  of  an  auctioneer's  clerk  by  a  parting 

308 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

shake   of    the   hand   which   was    certainly   of   needless 
length." 

"It's  possible,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "that  I  may, 
one  of  these  days,  have  something  to  confide  to  you 
about  the  young  lady  myself." 

"She's  going  to  take  me,"  replied  Sir  Rawlin,  "to  a 
distant  village  to-morrow,  but  after  that  I  must  man- 
age to  dispense  with  her  sendees." 

Sir  Rawlin  felt  that  to  do  this  without  wounding  her 
feelings  might  be  difficult,  but  circumstances  unfore- 
seen by  him  relieved  him  from  all  embarrassment.  The 
visit  to  the  village  had  been  accomplished  and  had 
proved  satisfactory,  but  the  girl  herself  had  shown  no 
wish  to  quit  the  vehicle.  Her  aspect  also  had  under- 
gone a  certain  change.  She  had  discarded  her  veils ;  she 
was  wearing  a  chauffeur's  cap;  and  this,  together  with 
a  frankly  masculine  coat  buttoned  close  under  her  chin, 
transposed  her,  for  the  ordinary  observer,  into  the  like- 
ness of  a  fresh  young  man.  Except  for  a  remark  that 
a  man's  dress  was  much  more  comfortable  than  a  wom- 
an's, she  made  no  allusion  to  this  change  in  her  attire 
until  the  outlying  lamp-posts  of  Southquay  were  once 
more  drifting  past  them.  Before  them  was  a  long,  white 
road  running  close  to  the  sea,  and  bordered  by  an  as- 
phalt trottoir,  which  was  dotted  with  groups  of  pedes- 
trians few  and  far  between.  Suddenly  the  girl  slack- 
ened speed,  applying  the  brake  with  such  vehemence 
that  Mr.  Hugo  behind  was  thrown  from  his  seat  with 
ignominy. 

"  Find  me  my  goggles,"  she  said  to  Sir  Rawlin.  "  Quick, 
please.  I  see  in  front  of  us  that  dreadful  Colonel 
O'Brian,  with  one  of  his  dreadful  associates,  and  I  don't 
want  to  have  them  staring  at  me." 

The  goggles  were  found  and  affixed  with  great  rapid- 
ity, the  car  meanwhile  crawling.  The  speed  was  recov- 
ered, but  it  had  not  become  too  great  by  the  time  the 
Colonel  and  his  sauntering  companion  were  passed  to 
prevent  Miss  Enid,  bold  in  her  safe  disguise,  from  re- 

309 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

turning  their  careless  stare  with  one,  considerably  keen- 
er, of  her  own. 

"That  Colonel,"  she  said,  "makes  me  sick,  and  the 
creature  with  him  is  worse.  Look  here,  you" — this  was 
addressed  to  the  mechanician — "you  drive  her  the  rest 
of  the  way.  I'm  tired,  and  will  go  behind." 

From  that  day  forward  her  enthusiasm  as  a  canvasser 
ceased.  Sir  Rawlin  was  only  too  well  pleased  to  accept 
her  explanation  that  the  excitement  of  the  work  was  too 
much  for  her;  and,  indeed,  when  he  heard,  as  he  did 
hear  from  Dr.  Thistlewood,  that  for  a  couple  of  days 
subsequently  she  had  not  appeared  in  public  anywhere, 
he  was  for  the  moment  inclined  to  accept  this  explana- 
tion as  correct.  When  a  few  more  days  had  elapsed  he 
saw  reason  to  reconsider  his  opinion. 

Early  one  afternoon  she  arrived  at  the  Turkish  Castle, 
where  Sir  Rawlin  happened  to  have  been  lunching,  her 
object  being  to  secure  from  Dr.  Thistlewood  some  treat- 
ment for  her  wounded  arm.  This  Dr.  Thistlewood  very 
promptly  applied  in  the  room  which  contained  his  gramo- 
phone and  his  other  sets  of  apparatus;  and  the  gramo- 
phone in  especial  having  attracted  his  patient's  notice, 
he  proposed  that  she  should  commit  to  it  some  utterance 
of  her  own  and  enjoy  the  experience  of  having  it  given 
back  to  her.  Sir  Rawlin  and  Lord  Cotswold  were  sum- 
moned, in  order  that  they  might  be  present  at  the  per- 
formance, and  Sir  Rawlin,  drawing  her  aside,  suggested 
in  a  confidential  whisper  that  she  should  speak  into  the 
receiver  an  account  of  her  duel  with  Mr.  Barton.  The 
girl  started  slightly,  but  did  not  appear  displeased,  and 
the  others,  though  ignorant  of  the  event  to  which  Sir 
Rawlin  alluded,  begged  that  she  would  do  in  earnest 
what  had  been  asked  of  her  half  in  joke. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "don't  any  of  you  give  me  away. 
Come,  Dr.  Thistlewood,  stick  me  in  the  right  place.  How 
must  I  speak?  So?  All  right.  Here  goes,  then.  My 
good  aunt,  who  fancied  I  was  a  bit  of  a  heathen,  wanted 
me  to  see  that  tame  cat  of  a  priest  of  hers;  and  partly 

310 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

to  please  her — for  she's  an  awfully  good  sort — and  part- 
ly to  see  what  an  English  priest  was  like,  and  whether 
he  were  really  of  the  same  breed  as  the  rest — well,  I  just 
said  I  would."  So  she  began,  in  tones  placid  enough; 
but  as  she  proceeded  her  memories  of  the  scene  de- 
scribed seemed  more  and  more  to  excite  her,  and  she 
spoke  of  Mr.  Barton  and  the  things  which  he  held  sacred 
in  language  compared  with  which  what  she  had  actually 
said  to  him  was  mild.  If  it  had  not  been  for  the  agree- 
able modulations  of  her  voice,  which  gave  to  what  she 
was  saying  a  certain  air  of  burlesque,  Dr.  Thistlewood 
himself  would  have  felt  that  the  exhibition  was  painful. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said.  "  You  have  given  me  a  very 
interesting  document.  Here  is  the  special  little  box  in 
which  I  shall  preserve  your  record.  And  now,  young 
lady,  I've  got  something  else  to  ask  of  you.  I've  heard 
about  your  famous  motor,  and  I  should  like  to  have  a 
drive  in  it  myself  with  you.  Which  day  will  you  take 
me?" 

The  girl  frowned.  "Will  the  end  of-  the  week  do?" 
she  asked,  after  some  reflection.  "  I  believe  I  shall  be 
free  then,  and  I'll  take  you,  if  you  like  it,  to  the  other 
end  of  nowhere." 

"Then  that,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "is  an  engage- 
ment. Look,  Lord  Cotswold  is  speaking  to  you.  Would 
you  like  to  go  with  him  and  see  the  outside  of  the  house  ? 
He'll  show  you  the  great  crack  made  in  the  wall  by  the 
lightning." 

She  assented  to  this  proposal  with  alacrity,  and  when 
she  and  her  guide  were  gone  Dr.  Thistlewood  addressed 
Sir  Rawlin  with  a  face  graver  than  usual. 

"You're  lucky,"  he  said,  "in  having  got  rid  of  your 
canvasser.  That  young  woman  is  a  very  remarkable 
person.  You,  it  is  probable,  only  half  understand  her. 
You  told  me  yourself  a  few  odd  things  with  regard  to 
her.  I  can  tell  you  some  others,  and  I  think  I  may  as 
well  do  so.  She's  no  more  fit — have  you  ever  suspected 
this  ? — to  be  trusted  with  a  man — especially  a  man  some- 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

what  below  her  in  station — than  a  child  is  to  be  trusted 
with  a  box  of  matches  and  gunpowder.  My  nurse  here, 
who  went  with  Miss  Vivian  to  Malvern,  was  my  first  in- 
formant. She  told  me  that  Miss  Wynn,  driving  a  motor 
alone,  has  more  than  once  been  seen  to  pick  up  some 
pedestrian  —  in  each  case  a  well-dressed  male — whom 
she  happened  to  overtake  in  one  of  the  country  roads, 
and  has  carried  him  off  with  her  on  a  drive  of  unknown 
duration.  One  of  these  males  was  Martin,  a  clerk  in 
an  auctioneer's  office.  Another  was  a  farrier  from  Win- 
combe.  But  that's  not  all.  There's  a  man  staying  in 
this  town  who  calls  himself  an  Italian  count,  and  who 
has  managed  to  get  some  access  to  what  here  calls  it- 
self society.  Of  this  gentleman  I  believe  that  I  know 
something.  My  Italian  servant  has  been  inquiring 
about  him  at  the  Italian  pastry-cook's.  If  I  am  right, 
he's  an  impostor  of  the  vilest  kind.  At  all  events  he 
looks  it,  for  I've  passed  him  twice  in  the  street.  Well, 
it  appears  that  this  man  is  the  last  of  the  favored  group 
that  Miss  Enid  Wynn  has  been  taking  with  her  on  these 
famous  country  excursions.  She  met  him,  apparently 
by  appointment,  at  a  place  about  three  miles  off,  where 
the  road  crosses  the  railway,  and  the  man  who  has 
charge  of  the  gates  —  it's  odd  how  these  things  come 
round  to  one — declares  that  the  same  man,  walking  with 
a  military  gentleman,  the  gates  being  then  shut,  had 
accosted  the  same  young  lady  there  two  or  three  days 
before;  that  a  sort  of  scene  ensued  because  she  declined 
to  engage  in  conversation  with  him,  and  that  she  nearly 
knocked  him  down  with  her  car  as  soon  as  the  gates 
were  opened." 

"Good  Heavens!"  exclaimed  Sir  Rawlin.  "Why,  that 
must  be  the  very  man — a  friend  of  Colonel  O' Brian's — 
the  very  man  whom  she  passed  in  the  road  when  she 
was  driving  me  home  from  a  meeting.  She  had  out  her 
goggles  the  moment  she  set  eyes  on  him,  and  when  we 
went  by  him  she  stared — I  remember  noticing  this — as 
though  she  were  not  quite  sure  whether  he  were  an  old 

312 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

acquaintance  or  no.  From  her  conduct  directly  after- 
ward I  now  conclude  that  she  recognized  him,  and  had 
every  desire  that  he  should  not  recognize  her." 

A  curious  smile  formed  itself  on  Dr.  Thistlewood's  lips. 
"  I  felt  sure  I  was  right,"  he  said,  with  a  slight  nod.  "  I 
am,  as  you  are  aware,  in  the  confidence  of  the  young 
lady's  family,  and  of  the  family  doctor  also.  So  for  that 
reason,  and  perhaps  for  others,  my  mouth  is  sealed 
about  some  things.  Could  I  only  tell  you  all  I  know, 
and  all  I  suspect  as  well,  you  would  be  both  surprised 
and  interested.  Anyhow,  Sir  Rawlin,  you  may  be  really 
thankful  for  this:  that  Miss  Wynn's  aberrations  have 
nothing  to  do  with  you.  I  only  hope  that  they  may 
give  no  trouble  to  her  excellent  relations  here.  About 
that  I  am  not  so  sure.  I  shall  do  my  best  to  pre- 
vent it." 


CHAPTER   VIII 

WHATEVER  Miss  Wynn's  faults  in  other  respects 
might  be,  she  was,  at  all  events,  true  to  her  engage- 
ment with  Dr.  Thistlewood.  Alone  in  her  motor,  the 
mechanician  having  been  left  behind,  she  reached  the 
Turkish  Castle  at  the  hour  and  on  the  afternoon  ap- 
pointed, and  greeted  him  with  a  smile,  as  he  did  not 
fail  to  observe,  the  unusual  composure  of  which  had  a 
hint  in  it  of  malicious  triumph. 

"I  told  you,"  she  said,  "that  by  this  time  I  should  be 
free.  I  am;  and  I'm  game  to  drive  you  to  any  mortal 
place  you  wish.  What  do  you  say?  You  want  to  go 
in  the  direction  of  Stoke  Abbot  ?  Well,  if  we  do  that  I 
must  put  on  some  new  goggles.  They  cover  one  up 
better,  for  the  dust  on  the  Stoke  road  is  simply  enough 
to  smother  you." 

He  noticed  that,  while  in  the  town,  she  avoided  the 
more  frequented  streets  and  drove  with  almost  needless 
caution;  but,  even  so,  faces  would  be  turned  to  look  at 
her,  expressive  of  a  mystified  and  semi-derisive  interest. 

"It's  a  pity,"  Dr.  Thistlewood  began,  as  soon  as  they 
were  out  in  the  country,  "that  you  don't  happen  to  be 
standing  for  the  Southquay  Division  yourself.  From 
various  little  things  I've  heard,  and  from  what  I  have 
seen  just  now,  I  gather  that  you've  made  a  greater  sensa- 
tion here  than  the  man  who  is  the  actual  candidate." 

The  girl  looked  at  him  quickly.  "Do  you  mean  that 
for  a  sermon?"  she  said.  "Your  tone  is  like  Mr.  Bar- 
ton's. I  hope  you're  not  going  to  remind  me  of  that 
double-distilled  idiot.  Look  here,  Dr.  Gustav,  have 
some  of  the  fools  been  telling  you  that  I  drive  too  fast  ? 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

I've  only  knocked  down  one  child — I  wish  it  had  been 
a  certain  man — but  the  brat  wasn't  hurt  a  bit;  and  I 
also  went  over  two  dogs  and  a  chicken.  But  in  each 
case  I  made  things  right  on  the  spot.  The  child  cost 
me  a  fiver — little  blubbering  fool.  I  say,  has  any  one 
been  making  complaints  to  my  aunt?  Please,  if  they 
have,  tell  her  I've  a  bee  in  my  bonnet,  and  that  nothing 
I  do  means  anything.  Don't  preach  any  more,  but  say 
where  you  want  to  go.  Three  roads  branch  off  on  the 
other  side  of  the  railway  crossing.  I  shall  take  you  at 
a  rush  past  that,  for  I  can't  bear  being  hung  up  there; 
so  hold  on  for  all  you're  worth." 

"I  will  ask  you,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "to  take  the 
first  turning  to  the  left.  I've  studied  the  map,  and  I 
know  how  the  roads  run.  That  one  goes  to  a  place 
which  I'm  very  anxious  to  see  —  a  town  on  the  bor- 
ders of  Dartmoor,  with  many  curious  buildings.  King's 
Hampton,  its  name  is.  We  can  ask  the  way  farther  on, 
if  we're  ever  in  any  doubt  about  it." 

"King's  Hampton,"  said  the  girl,  frowning.  "That's 
a  rotten  sort  of  place  to  go  to,  if  the  guide-books  tell  the 
truth.  Still,  if  you've  set  your  heart  on  it,  I  don't  care. 
Why  should  I?  We  can  just  spin  through  the  town 
and  come  back  by  another  road." 

Dr.  Thistlewood  hereupon  let  the  subject  of  their 
destination  drop  till  the  old-fashioned  market-town, 
overlooking  a  wooded  valley,  came  in  sight,  with  its 
mellow  red  -  brick  houses  and  the  huge  tower  of  its 
church,  beyond  which  slopes  of  moorland  ascended  tow- 
ard a  realm  of  crags.  The  girl  at  this  point  was  be- 
ginning to  quicken  her  pace,  as  though  bent  on  giving 
King's  Hampton  as  little  of  her  presence  as  possible, 
when  Dr.  Thistlewood  observed  that  his  reason  for  wish- 
ing to  visit  it  was  his  interest — an  historical  interest — 
in  one  of  its  public  structures. 

"Well,"  said  the  girl,  "structures  are  nothing  to  me; 
and  if  there's  anything  I  hate,  it's  waiting  in  a  country 
street  where  every  child  in  the  place  comes  buzzing 

3*5 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

round  the  car  like  a  blue-bottle.  If  you  want  to  look 
at  your  structure,  I'd  sooner  wait  for  you  here.  I  sup- 
pose half  an  hour  will  do  you,  and  I  promise  not  to  run 
away." 

Dr.  Thistlewood  assented,  declaring  that  his  project- 
ed exploration  would  probably  be  accomplished  in  a 
time  even  shorter  than  that  named  by  her.  His  esti- 
mate was  justified  by  events,  and  in  less  than  half  an 
hour  he  was  again  seated  by  her  side. 

"I  did  not,"  he  said,  as  they  started  on  their  home- 
ward journey,  "find  that  King's  Hampton  was  a  rotten 
little  place  at  all.  Many  of  the  houses  looked  to  me 
particularly  interesting.  I  went  into  only  one  of  them. 
It  was  called  the  Lion  Hotel.  It  was  built  in  the  reign 
of  King  William  and  Queen  Mary.  Under  these  sov- 
ereigns some  strange  events  occurred  in  it.  I  had  learned 
that  from  one  of  the  guide-books.  Another  strange 
event  has  occurred  in  it  during  the  reign  of  King  Ed- 
ward. I  learned  that  from  rumor,  but  I  wished  to  be 
satisfied  as  to  its  accuracy.  It  appears  to  be  really  true 
that  a  young  lady  of  some  position,  driving  a  motor 
whose  number  has  enabled  certain  gossips  to  identify 
her,  brought  a  stranger  to  this  hotel — a  man  of  curious 
aspect  —  and  gave  him  luncheon  in  a  private  sitting- 
room  with  a  very  fine  plaster  ceiling.  The  gentleman, 
who  drank  a  bottle  of  old  Burgundy  and  expressed  him- 
self in  a  foreign  language,  became  so  excited  at  one  stage 
of  the  proceedings,  and  stamped  with  such  vigor  on  the 
floor,  that  the  maid,  approaching  the  door  with  an  apple- 
tart  in  her  hands,  thought  there  was  going  to  be  murder 
and  cautiously  called  the  landlord.  By  the  time  the 
landlord  appeared  the  violence  of  the  quarrel  was  sub- 
siding; but  both  the  listeners  heard  the  young  lady 
bring  her  guest  to  order  by  some  threat  spoken  in  Eng- 
lish, the  meaning  of  which  was  that  she  somehow  had  the 
whip-hand  of  him.  I  got  this  out  of  the  landlord,  and  I 
managed  to  make  light  of  the  matter  by  telling  him  that 
the  young  lady  was  a  foreigner,  and  that  the  man — a 

316 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

disreputable  cousin  of  hers,  obliged  for  political  reasons 
to  escape  from  his  own  country — had  been  trying  to 
extort  money  from  one  relative  after  another,  and  had 
come  to  Southquay  in  order  to  victimize  her.  'It's  a 
pity,'  I  added,  'that  he  hasn't  committed  an  offence 
against  the  laws  of  England,  for  then  we  could  shut  him 
up.' "  Dr.  Thistlewood  fancied — but  he  could  not  be 
quite  sure — that  he  heard  his  companion  mutter  be- 
tween her  teeth,  "He  has!"  "I  was  happy  to  find,"  he 
continued,  "that  mine  host  both  accepted  my  explana- 
tion and  was  disappointed  by  it,  and  a  little  present 
which  I  made  him  will,  I  think,  have  the  effect  of  pre- 
venting the  spread  of  any  gossip  which  will  do  much 
harm  to  anybody." 

The  girl's  face,  during  the  course  of  Dr.  Thistlewood's 
narrative,  had  gradually  clouded  ovrer,  the  color  on  her 
cheeks  had  deepened,  and  she  had  affected  an  unnatural 
preoccupation  with  the  management  and  mechanism  of 
the  car.  At  last,  without  turning  to  her  companion,  she 
said,  in  a  low  and  constrained  tone : 

"You're  a  ripper! — though  you  don't  know  one-half, 
nor  even  a  damned  quarter,  of  what  you're  talking  about. 
Why,"  she  continued,  presently,  as  if  repenting  of  her 
magnanimity — "why  didn't  you  say  what's  true — that 
I  met  that  man  at  the  golf-club?  Damn  these  stones! 
They  tear  one's  tires  to  pieces.  You've  heard  every- 
thing wrong.  What  right  have  you  to  meddle?  How 
did  you  hear  what  you  did  hear?" 

"  Hear  it !"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  with  a  laugh.  "  There 
was  not  much  difficulty  in  hearing  it.  It  will  be  all 
we  can  do  to  prevent  your  aunt  hearing  it  also.  But 
this  is  not  all  I've  heard.  There's  an  auctioneer's  clerk 
called  Martin.  You  had  a  little  flirtation  with  him  in 
the  office,  when  you  played  at  canvassing.  Your  driv- 
ing that  man  into  the  country  with  you  was  an  act  of 
incredible  folly.  When  you  look  back  over  certain  past 
events,  don't  you  think  so  yourself?" 

"  I  dare  say  it  was  silly,"  the  girl  answered,  ungracious- 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

ly.  "But  what  harm  does  it  do  me?  Thank  God,  I'm 
not  dependent  on  the  tittle-tattle  of  Southquay  trades- 
men, though  you,  it  appears,  consider  their  conversation 
interesting.  My  driving  that  man  Martin  was  only  a 
bit  of  a  lark ;  and  the  same  thing  is  true  about  that  other 
man  whom  I  met  with  old  O'Brian  on  the  golf-course. 
Your  friend  the  landlord  will  bear  witness  that  I  knew 
how  to  put  him  in  his  place.  And,  damn  it  all,  Dr. 
Thistlewood,  why  should  you  put  your  oar  in?  When 
Dr.  Gonteau  told  you  I'd  been  a  bit  off  color,  and  he 
and  my  people  asked  you  to  bring  me  to  Cliff's  End,  I 
thought  you  were  a  brick.  You  made  everything  easy. 
I  never  fancied  you  would  turn  into  a  second  Mr.  Bar- 
ton, and  preach  to  me.  I'm  as  strong  as  a  horse  now, 
and  can  manage  my  own  business.  Have  I  lost  my 
nerve?  Watch  me  as  I  dodge  between  those  two 
carts." 

"  I  am  not  preaching  you  a  sermon,"  said  Dr.  Thistle- 
wood,  "on  the  ten  commandments.  Except  for  your 
own  sake,  and  so  far  as  I  am  concerned  personally,  you 
would,  if  you  broke  the  whole  of  them,  be  only  the  more 
interesting.  I  am  preaching  to  you,  for  your  own  sake, 
on  the  eleventh — 'Thou  shalt  not  be  found  out';  or,  if 
you  like  it  better,  'Always  keep  an  eye  on  the  con- 
sequences.' Look  back,  as  I  said  before,  on  certain 
past  events.  Have  they  been  barren  of  consequences 
from  which,  at  this  very  moment,  you  would  be  glad 
enough  if  a  friend  like  myself  could  shield  you  ?  Think 
it  over,  and  don't  speak  till  you've  done  so." 

An  expression  of  doggedness,  mixed  with  sullen,  ob- 
scure anxiety,  had  been  gathering  on  the  girl's  face,  and 
it  was  not  until  they  had  turned  into  the  main  road  to 
Southquay  that  either  of  them  spoke  again.  She,  how- 
ever, more  than  once  had  stolen  a  glance  at  Dr.  Thistle- 
wood,  and  had  noticed,  with  a  growing  irritation,  that 
he  seemed  to  be  unconscious  of  her  existence — unless, 
indeed,  it  were  some  thought  of  herself  that  fed  his  eyes 
with  the  light  of  a  half-cynical  smile. 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

At  last  she  could  stand  it  no  longer.  "Well,"  she 
said,  "what's  the  matter  with  you?  Do  speak  out,  and 
have  done  with  it.  What  are  those  mysterious  con- 
sequences, and  what  are  those  past  events?  You  are 
surely  not  still  making  a  Mont  Blanc  of  a  mole-hill — I 
mean  because  I  lunched  with  that  man  —  I've  forgot- 
ten his  very  name  by  this  time — whom  I  met  on  the 
golf  -  course  and  snubbed  when  he  became  imperti- 
nent? I  never  want  to  set  eyes  on  his  beastly  face 
again." 

"I  am  glad,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  turning  to  her, 
"that  you  have  taken  my  advice,  and  thought.  You 
say,  however,  that  you  have  forgotten  the  name  of  the 
impertinent  gentleman  in  question.  Myself,  I  am  quite 
familiar  with  it.  Do  you — may  I  ask,  since  you  talk 
about  past  events — remember  a  street,  older  than  the 
Lion  Hotel,  and  perhaps  even  richer  in  associations, 
called  the  Via  Caterina?  In  that  street  is  an  Albergo, 
frequented  chiefly  by  Italians.  And  do  you  also — this 
is  taking  you  rather  a  long  jump — remember  another 
inn  at  a  place  called  Tarbat?  Tarbat  is  in  one  of  the 
Hebrides.  It  is  well  known  for  its  homespuns." 

The  girl  made  no  answer,  but  the  car  suddenly  swerved 
a  little.  It  swerved  for  a  second  only,  and  her  hands 
regrasped  the  steering  -  wheel.  The  force  with  which 
they  seemed  to  cling  to  the  wooden  rim  was  remark- 
able. 

"  In  the  books  of  those  two  inns,"  Dr.  Thistlewood 
continued,  presently,  "certain  facts  are  recorded.  They 
are  these."  He  stooped  toward  her,  and  said  some- 
thing to  her  in  a  measured  undertone.  The  girl's  feel- 
ings were  already  highly  strung,  and  the  last  word  of 
this  communication  caused  her  to  give  a  violent  start; 
but  the  words  which  followed  were  not  addressed  to 
her  companion. 

"  Hi,  you  there!"  she  shouted  to  the  driver  of  a  baker's 
cart  in  front  of  them,  "what  the  hell  do  you  mean  by 
not  sticking  to  the  right  side  of  the  road?" 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

"For  Heaven's  sake,"  exclaimed  Dr.  Thistlewood, 
"look  out  where  you're  going!" 

He  had  hardly  time  to  speak  before  the  girl,  agitated 
by  her  own  emotions,  had,  in  an  effort  to  avoid  touching 
the  cart,  run  her  right-hand  wheels  on  to  a  road-mender's 
heap  of  stones.  The  car  was  not  capsized,  though  the 
resulting  shock  was  considerable,  the  driver  with  in- 
stinctive skill  restoring  it  to  its  normal  course;  but  in 
executing  this  manoeuvre  she  failed  to  see  that  in  front 
of  her  was  a  second  vehicle,  which  had  been  hidden  from 
observation  by  the  first — a  large  wagon  laden  with  pro- 
truding fagots.  Again  her  instinctive  skill  saved  her 
from  a  direct  collision,  but  some  of  the  twigs,  or  rather 
branches,  struck  her  violently  on  the  face,  tearing  the 
goggles  from  her  face,  slightly  scratching  her  cheeks, 
and  throwing  her,  with  a  lurch,  against  the  body  of  the 
man  beside  her.  Luckily  the  car  by  this  time  was  as- 
cending a  steep  hill. 

"Quick!"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  laying  his  hands  on 
the  steering-wheel.  "Change  places  at  once.  I  can 
drive  as  well  as  you  can." 

The  girl  turned  on  him  a  pale,  consenting  look.  The 
change  was  effected,  she  was  hardly  conscious  how,  and, 
subsiding  into  her  new  position,  she  pressed  her  hands 
to  her  eyes. 

"Are  your  eyes  hurt?"  he  asked,  curtly,  but  not  un- 
kindly. "The  scratch  on  your  cheek  is  nothing." 

She  removed  her  hands  and  looked  at  him,  like  a 
child  obeying  orders. 

"  I  can  see  you,"  she  said.  "  Damn  it,  I'm  not  blind!" 
She  spoke  with  intelligence,  but  yet  with  a  certain 
apathy. 

"Listen,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood.  "Do  you  think  you 
can  understand  what  I  am  saying  to  you?  I'm  not 
going  to  frighten  your  friends  at  Cliff's  End  about  you. 
I  shall  tell  them  one  thing  only — that  some  sticks  in  a 
wagon  hit  you — that  your  eyes  are  inflamed — that  you've 
had  a  severe  shaking — that  you  will  have  to  be  kept  and 

320 


AN    IMMORTAL    SOUL 

looked  after  in  a  dark  room  for  a  week — and  that,  in- 
stead of  taking  you  home,  I  have,  on  my  own  respon- 
sibility, committed  you  to  the  care  of  a  nurse  at  the 
Turkish  Castle,  where  I  shall  myself  be  able  to  watch 
you  from  day  to  day." 


CHAPTER   IX 

"\/OU  may,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood  to  Lady  Susannah, 

J  a  few  days  later,  "be  quite  easy  in  your  mind 
about  Miss  Wynn.  She  has  suffered  no  damage — not 
even  a  scratch  —  which  nature  and  a  darkened  room 
won't  very  soon  have  cured.  The  wonder  is  she  was  not 
killed.  One  thing,  however,  my  dear  lady,  is  plain  — 
she  mustn't  come  back  to  you.  If  she  did,  there's  no 
knowing  what  mischief  she  would  be  up  to  next.  About 
that  matter  her  father  is  quite  determined." 

"Yes,"  said  Lady  Susannah,  with  an  odd,  whimsical 
smile,  "I  have  heard  from  him  myself  also.  I  don't 
think  I  could,  with  the  best  will  in  the  world,  be  re- 
sponsible for  her  much  longer.  You'll  allow  me  to 
come,  won't  you,  and  see  her  before  she  goes?  There'd 
be  something  so  forlorn  in  her  slipping  off  without  a 
word." 

Dr.  Thistlewood  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Well,"  he 
said,  "in  a  day  or  two  you  might  do  that,  if  you  wished 
it,  but  she's  not  yet  in  a  mood  for  any  family  inter- 
views. She  knows  she  has  made  a  fool  of  herself,  though 
her  obstinacy  won't  admit  it;  and  you  may  take  the 
state  of  her  temper  as  evidence  of  her  physical  strength. 
I  honestly  believe  that  the  kindest  thing  you  can  do  is 
to  let  her  go  off  quietly,  without  what  she  would  feel  as 
the  humiliation  of  any  parting  scene,  and  she  can  say 
her  adieus  to  you  and  thank  you — I'm  sure  that  she 
wishes  this — through  me." 

"  If  that's  still  your  opinion  when  the  time  for  her  de- 
parture comes,"  said  Lady  Susannah,  with  kindly  re- 
luctance, "I'll  be  guided  by  it.  I  see  your  point.  What 

32? 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

seems  the  unkind  thing  is  sometimes  really  the  kind- 
est." 

"And  now,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "I  think,  though 
I'm  not  perfectly  certain,  that,  without  raising  false 
hopes,  I  may  tell  you  something  that  will  please  you. 
Miss  Vivian,  from  what  I  have  learned  this  morning, 
seems  on  the  road  to  her  own  recovery  also ;  and  I  hope 
it  may  be  my  pleasant  office,  when  I  have  seen  Miss 
Wynn  off  safe  and  sound  on  her  journey,  to  bring  Miss 
Nest  back  to  you  equally  safe  and  sound.  I  can't  name 
the  day,  but  it  won't  be  very  far  distant." 

Lady  Susannah's  face  lit  up  with  pleasure.  Her  mis- 
givings with  regard  to  Miss  Enid  disappeared  from  her 
consciousness,  and  when  she  communicated  to  her  fam- 
ily the  prospect  of  Nest's  return  a  spirit  of  pleasure 
and  excitement  diffused  itself  through  the  entire  house. 
Days,  however,  went  on,  and,  so  far  as  Dr.  Thistlewood 
was  concerned,  nothing  further  was  heard  of  this  de- 
sired event;  but  one  morning,  from  quite  another  quar- 
ter, Lady  Susannah  found  herself  the  recipient  of  news 
relating  to  it.  The  news  came  through  a  letter,  and  the 
writer  of  the  letter  was  Mr.  Barton.  He  wrote: 

"DEAR  LADY  SUSANNAH, — I  thank  God  very  humbly  for  the 
light  which  He  is  now  permitting  to  shine  through  my  doubts 
and  darkness.  You  will,  I  believe,  understand  the  conflict  of 
feelings  with  which  I  prepared  to  approach,  in  the  mood  neces- 
sary for  the  occasion,  a  parent  whose  marriage  is  no  marriage  in 
the  eyes  of  any  true  Christian.  When  I  called  first  at  their  villa 
Captain  and  Mrs.  Vivian  were  absent,  but  were  expected  back 
shortly,  so  I  waited  at  Cimiez  for  their  return.  At  last  I  saw 
him.  The  ways  of  the  human  heart  are  wonderful.  It  seems 
to  me  that  his  errors  have  been  due  to  weakness.  He  is  kind 
and  generous  to  the  poor  here.  It  is  grievous  to  think  that  he 
cannot  work  with  the  Church.  This  thought  grieves  me.  He 
received  me  with  perfect  courtesy,  and  when  I  had  finished  my 
explanations  he  treated  me  with  a  kindness  which  brought  tears 
to  my  eyes.  He  told  me  that  my  wishes  had  his  entire  ap- 
proval. There,  however,  he  stopped  short;  for  when  I  asked 
him  where  she  was,  he  absolutely  refused  to  tell  me.  I  ought 
here  to  admit  one  thing.  The  father's  reticence  shows  me  that 

323 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

I  was  wrong  in  my  suspicions  that  all  this  mystery  was  of  Dr. 
Thistlewood's  making.  Captain  Vivian  himself  insisted  that  till 
his  daughter  was  absolutely  recovered  no  friend  was  to  write 
to  her  or  approach  her  or  hold  any  communication  with  her 
whatsoever,  or  find  out  where  or  how  she  was  being  treated. 
But  while  this  conversation  was  in  progress  a  singular  thing 
happened — Captain  Vivian  received  a  telegram.  As  he  read  it 
a  change  came  over  his  whole  expression.  He  handed  me  the 
telegram  to  read,  and  what  do  you  think  it  was  ?  '  Recovery  of 
N.  V.  in  a  few  days  almost  certain.  Will  bring  her  back  to  Lady 
S.  probably  in  course  of  week.'  The  telegram  had  no  signature. 
I  presume  it  was  from  Dr.  Thistlewood.  I  did  not  even  think 
of  asking.  Thank  God — thank  God!  If  possible,  I  shall  start 
by  earliest  train  to-morrow,  hoping  soon  to  see  you  all  again, 
and  to  take  my  thankful  part  in  our  own  Easter  services." 

The  following  morning,  not  long  after  breakfast,  Dr. 
Thistlewood  himself  inquired  for  Lady  Susannah,  and 
she  saw  from  his  face  that  he  brought  with  him  some  in- 
telligence. 

"Miss  Vivian  will  be  back,"  he  said,  "before  the  end 
of  the  week.  As  for  Miss  Wynn,  please  be  guided  by 
me,  and  don't  attempt  to  have  any  parting  scenes.  She 
doesn't  wish  it  herself.  Leave  her  to  me  and  the  nurse, 
and  suppose  that  she  has  gone  already.  And  now,  my 
dear  lady,  I  can't  tell  you  any  more,  for  I'm  on  my  way 
to  the  station.  I  have  to  be  in  London  for  a  night,  and 
I'm  travelling  with  our  friend  Sir  Rawlin.  Have  you 
seen  the  morning  paper?  He's  in — Sir  Rawlin  is  in — 
with  a  five-hundred  majority.  I  dare  say  that,  with 
these  domestic  anxieties,  you'd  forgotten  that  the  poll 
was  yesterday  or  that  there  was  to  be  an  election  at 
all." 

"I  am,"  said  Lady  Susannah,  "indeed,  delighted  to 
hear  that — for  our  own  sakes,  and  for  his  sake  too.  Sir 
Rawlin  was  devoted  to  Nest,  and  you  know  what  he's 
done  for  Oswald.  We've  hardly  seen  him  lately.  I 
suppose  he  hasn't  had  much  time.  And  now,  before 
you  go,  I  should  like  to  show  you  a  letter.  I'm  not  be- 
traying secrets,  for  I  know  you  are  in  the  writer's  con- 

324  ' 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

fidence.  The  telegram  he  mentions  was,  I  suppose,  sent 
by  you." 

Dr.  Thistlewood  took  a  rapid  survey  of  Mr.  Barton's 
closely  written  pages. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "the  telegram  was  mine.  Poor  man, 
I  had  divined  his  secret  long  before  he  confided  it  to  me. 
Don't  you  think  he  may  find  that  he's  reckoning  without 
his  hostess?" 

"No,"  replied  Lady  Susannah,  "I  assure  you  you're 
quite  wrong  there.  Nest  has  told  him  quite  plainly — 
I  had  this  from  himself — that  her  feeling  for  him  was  the 
same  as  his  for  her.  They  quite  understand  each  other. 
There's  no  doubt  about  that." 

"  Indeed !"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood.  "  That  interests  me. 
I  suppose  this  confession  took  place — let  me  see  if  I  can 
guess  when.  Was  it  on  the  afternoon  of  the  day  after 
Lord  Cotswold's  party,  when  the  invalid  had  had  a 
temporary  recovery  and  came  down-stairs  for  a  little? 
It  was — was  it?  I  thought  so.  Well,  we  shall  see  what 
happens.  I  hope  that  everything  will  turn  out  as  he 
wishes.  And  now,  good-bye.  Most  likely  when  we  next 
meet  I  shall  be  bringing  the  young  lady  with  me." 

Mr.  Barton,  while  his  affairs  were  being  thus  discussed, 
was  already  approaching  Paris — the  happiest  and  the 
gravest  passenger  on  the  slow  train  called  a  "rapide." 
The  French  Riviera  had  at  one  time  been  well  known  to 
him.  On  his  outward  journey  he  was  blind  to  all  its 
remembered  beauty;  but  its  blue  skies,  its  aloes,  and  the 
sparklings  of  its  white  houses,  seen  through  the  windows 
of  his  carriage,  as  he  started  on  his  way  home,  shone  for 
him  like  the  celestial  city,  and  were  charged  with  a  prom- 
ise which  he  never  had  known  of  old.  He  looked  out  in 
the  glow  of  the  dazzling  noon  at  the  ancient  towers  of 
Tarascon,  remembering  bits  of  building  which  he  had 
himself  once  sketched,  or  fixed  his  eyes  on  some  far-off 
mountain  sanctuary  to  whose  immemorial  pieties  his 
heart  made  a  new  pilgrimage,  thinking  that  some  day 
he  might  kneel  there  with  another  life  beating  at  his  side. 

325 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

Then,  as  he  sped  northward,  and  cypress  and  olive  van- 
ished, and  Gothic  spire  and  pinnacle  showed  above  half- 
fledged  branches,  he  saw  himself  bringing  at  Whitsuntide 
his  bride-elect  to  her  confirmation.  Then  would  follow 
the  day  of  her  first  communion,  and  then,  a  week  or  so 
later,  the  sacred  rapture  of  marriage,  with  a  voice  from 
Eden  breathing  through  pointed  English  arches. 

It  was  midnight  when  he  reached  South  quay,  and  he 
remained,  after  a  hasty  supper,  for  a  long  hour  in  prayer. 
The  act  of  prayer  itself,  he  found,  had  acquired  a  new 
character.  No  less  intense  than  formerly,  it  was  accom- 
panied by  a  less  painful  strain.  Approaching  the  feet 
of  his  Master  hand  in  hand  with  the  loved  one,  her  love 
seemed  to  surround  him,  and  his  Divine  Master  also, 
with  an  atmosphere  of  reconciliation  altogether  strange 
to  his  experience.  Lines  of  poetry — some  of  them  from 
Shelley,  the  unbeliever  —  mixed  themselves  with  his 
orisons,  and  became  a  congruous  part  of  them.  Next 
morning  when  he  went  into  the  garden,  before  the  dews 
were  dry,  the  air  and  the  fresh  scents  went  through  him 
with  their  promise  and  welcome,  and  with  bent  head, 
and  in  words  almost  articulate,  he  ejaculated:  "Lord, 
Thou  hast  married  me  to  Thy  creature,  the  Spring,  also." 
He  even  found  himself  repeating  lines  which  to  him  had 
before  been  meaningless: 

"  What  are  all  these  kisses  worth, 
If  she  kiss  not  me?" 

Trivial  things  tread  on  the  heels  of  the  serious.  They 
did  so  in  Mr.  Barton's  case  when,  before  sitting  down  to 
breakfast,  he  handed  a  note  to  his  maid-servant  which 
informed  Lady  Susannah  of  his  arrival,  and  which  he 
desired  that  a  messenger  might  take  to  Cliff's  End  at 
once.  He  was  not  much  given  to  casual  conversation 
with  his  attendant,  but  often,  when  he  had,  as  now, 
returned  after  some  days'  absence,  he  would  ask  her  how 
she  was  and  whether  there  were  any  news.  He  did  so 
on  the  present  occasion  as  he  put  the  letter  into  her 

326 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

hands,  expecting  nothing  but  a  smile  and  the  custom- 
ary formal  answer.  The  smile,  indeed,  came  punctually, 
but  it  was  at  once  much  broader  and  more  charged  with 
meaning  than  usual,  and  was  followed  by  news  of  a  very 
definite  kind. 

"You  won't  have  heard,  sir,"  she  said,  "what's  been 
going  on  at  Cliff's  End." 

Mr.  Barton  in  general  discouraged  all  private  tale- 
bearing, but  necessity  knows  no  laws,  and  he  hastily  ex- 
claimed : 

"No.     What?" 

"Why,  since  you've  been  away,  sir,"  said  the  maid, 
who  needed  little  encouragement,  "  the  young  lady  who's 
been  staying  there  has  set  everybody  in  the  place  talk- 
ing. She  began  by  going  about  with  Sir  Rawlin  Stantor 
canvassing,  till  he  couldn't  stand  it  no  longer.  She  was 
hand  and  glove,  they  say,  with  all  the  young  fellows  in 
the  town,  and  she  took  Martin,  the  auctioneer's  clerk, 
and  some  others,  and  an  outlandish  foreign  nobleman, 
quite  alone  and  loverlike,  for  jaunts  with  her  into  the 
country;  and  she  nearly  smashed  the  car — for  'twas  all 
done  in  a  motor — when  the  strange  doctor  was  with  her, 
and  she  hurt  her  eyes — I  don't  think  she  was  blinded — 
and  was  taken  to  the  Turkish  Castle  to  be  under  the 
doctor's  care." 

Mr.  Barton  contracted  his  face  into  an  expression  of 
appropriate  disapproval,  under  cover  of  which  he  said, 
quickly : 

"  And  is  the  young  lady  at  the  Turkish  Castle 
still?" 

The  maid  replied  that  she  did  not  know  for  certain, 
but  had  heard  "as  how  the  young  lady  was  to  be  took 
away." 

"When  I  saw  her,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  "I  thought  she 
was  likely  to  be  rash.  I  trust  that  nothing  serious  has 
happened  to  her.  Very  well,  Susan ;  you  will  give  that 
letter  to  Richards.  And  stay — did  the  organist  come 
here  to  see  me  yesterday?" 

327 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

The  intelligence  which  he  had  just  heard  was,  in  one 
way,  not  displeasing  to  him,  since  it  showed  how  per- 
verted principles  translated  themselves  into  monstrous 
acts;  and  the  annoyance  caused  him  by  what  seemed 
at  least  the  chance  that  Miss  Wynn  might  be  in  the 
neighborhood  still,  real  though  it  was,  was  slight.  She 
had,  in  any  case,  left  Cliff's  End,  even  if  Miss  Vivian  had 
not  actually  come,  and  there  was,  he  felt  convinced, 
no  danger  of  her  returning.  For  the  rest,  the  thought 
of  all  those  indecent  follies  merely  renewed,  and  indeed 
gave  a  sharper  edge  to,  the  indignation  which  she  had 
originally  aroused  in  him  by  the  atrocities  both  of  her 
mind  and  language.  An  insult  to  things  and  beliefs 
which  they  hold  supremely  sacred  affects  such  men  as 
Mr.  Barton  like  a  blow  struck  at  themselves,  except  for 
the  fact  that  they  hold  themselves  bound  to  avenge, 
not  pardon  it.  Had  there  been  an  Inquisition  in  Eng- 
land, Mr.  Barton  would  have  been  an  Inquisitor,  and 
Miss  Wynn  might  well  have  been  in  danger  of  the 
dungeon,  if  not  the  stake.  The  Inquisitor's  bitterness, 
however,  sank  at  once  into  abeyance  when  a  tray  was 
presented  to  him,  on  whose  black  japanned  surface  lay 
a  letter  from  Lady  Susannah — her  prompt  answer  to 
his  own.  He  received  it  with  the  reverence  due  to  some 
gift  from  heaven.  Its  contents,  though  not  quite  all, 
were  nearly  all  he  had  hoped  for. 

"Enid,"  it  said,  "who  was  finding  this  place  too  dull 
for  her,  received  the  other  day  a  shock  when  driving 
herself  in  a  motor-car.  She  only  just  escaped  what 
might  have  been  a  most  frightful  accident.  Dr.  This- 
tlewood,  who  has  some  rooms  which  he  has  furnished 
for  future  patients  in  a  wing  of  the  Turkish  Castle,  is 
taking  her  under  his  care  till  she  leaves,  and  will  bring 
back  Nest  to  us  at  the  earliest  possible  moment,  as  soon 
as  poor  Enid  has  taken  her  departure  for  good.  This 
will  probably  be  to-morrow,  or  at  latest  the  day  after. 
I  will  send  you  a  note  as  soon  as  I  know  for  certain,  and 
I  believe  I  shall  be  doing  right — though  I  cannot  be 

328 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

quite  sure — in  arranging  that  you  shall  meet  her  at  the 
very  first  opportunity." 

There  was  one  phrase  here  which  gave  him  some  slight 
disquiet.  What  did  Lady  Susannah  mean  by  saying 
that  "she  was  not  quite  sure  "  ?  It  was  obvious,  he  said 
to  himself,  when  he  had  thought  the  matter  over,  that 
Miss  Vivian's  extreme  youth,  and  the  chance  of  her  thus 
not  knowing  her  own  mind,  had  been  troubling  Lady 
Susannah  with  scruples,  which  in  her  case  were  natural 
enough,  but  which  were  to  himself  ludicrous.  The  ob- 
ject of  his  love  had,  with  the  perfect  candor  of  inno- 
cence, made  an  avowal  of  her  feelings  for  him  even  be- 
fore he  had  dared  to  ask  it,  and  the  only  temptations 
to  any  change  of  mind  which  might  threaten  her  were 
merely  such  physical  weaknesses  as  would  call  for  a  hus- 
band's aid. 

Throughout  that  day,  which  he  gave  up  to  parish  busi- 
ness, he  was  agitated  by  what  he  knew  to  be  the  pre- 
mature hope  that  the  post  or  a  messenger  would  bring 
him  another  letter  summoning  him  to  Cliff's  End  at 
some  stated  hour  to-morrow;  but  night  came  without 
any  such  letter  reaching  him,  and,  waking  early  next 
morning  with  a  lover's  pleasurable  restlessness,  he  found 
himself  sallying  forth  toward  the  well-remembered  path 
by  the  sea,  where  he  and  Miss  Vivian  had  indulged  in 
their  first  intimate  conversation,  and  his  personal  attach- 
ment to  her  had  troubled  him  with  its  first  obscure  pre- 
monitions. 

His  shortest  way  to  this  path  lay  down  a  sloping  field, 
from  the  higher  parts  of  which  the  turrets  of  the  Turkish 
Castle  could  be  seen  on  one  side  and  the  ilexes  of  Cliff's 
End  on  the  other,  and  from  both  homesteads  silvery 
streaks  of  smoke  were  beginning  to  go  up  toward  the 
blueness  in  the  wake  of  the  singing  larks.  All  the  youth 
of  the  world  and  all  the  purities  of  the  spirit  blew  up  to 
Mr.  Barton  from  the  bosom  of  the  morning  sea.  Like 
Wordsworth,  "he  read  unutterable  love"  in  everything. 

The  seaward  path,  toward  which  he  was  descending 
329 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

slowly,  hidden  though  it  was  at  intervals  by  gorse  bushes, 
clumps  of  trees,  and  the  irregular  configurations  of  the 
ground,  was  nevertheless  visible  to  him  for  the  larger 
part  of  its  course.  He  fancied,  as  he  looked,  that  he 
could  almost  identify  her  footprints  at  certain  places 
which  he  associated  with  certain  words  of  hers  and  cer- 
tain expressions  of  her  face.  There  she  had  quoted  Shel- 
ley to  him ;  there — a  little  farther  on — some  uplifting  of 
the  spirit  had  brought  tears  to  her  eyes;  and  there  he 
had  given  her  his  gifts — the  incense  and  his  Secret  Way. 
All  these  memories  now  tingled  with  happy  promises — 
not  for  to-day,  perhaps,  but  for  to-morrow,  or  the  day 
after.  He  could  afford  to  wait,  since  waiting  seemed 
itself  to  be  such  an  act  of  rapture. 

Experiences  of  this  kind  are  enhanced  by,  if  they  do 
not  always  require,  those  conditions  of  silence  and  se- 
clusion which  Mr.  Barton  was  now  enjoying.  His  feel- 
ings, therefore,  suffered  a  momentary  though  not  a  very 
serious  disturbance  when  he  suddenly  realized  that  from 
the  direction  of  the  Turkish  Castle  two  figures  were  mov- 
ing along  the  path  which  he  was  about  to  join,  the 
one  following  the  other  at  a  distance  of  some  dozen 
yards.  Both  were  women.  The  hindmost  of  them  was 
evidently  of  a  sober  age,  and  moved  with  a  determined 
and  not  very  elegant  stride.  The  other,  as  evidently, 
was  young;  she  had  the  gait  of  a  lady,  and,  in  accord- 
ance with  a  tendency  very  common  among  expectant 
lovers,  to  see  the  expected  object  in  any  distant  figure 
of  the  same  age  and  sex,  Mr.  Barton  was  visited  by  what 
he  recognized  as  the  fantastic  idea  that  the  foremost  of 
these  matutinal  wanderers  was  none  other  than  Miss 
Vivian  herself. 

To  this  idea,  like  most  lovers  under  similar  circum- 
stances, though  he  did  not  accord  it  his  belief,  he  sur- 
rendered the  control  of  his  actions,  and  hastening  his 
pace  he  made  for  a  small  thicket  which  the  seaward 
pathway  traversed,  and  from  which,  if  he  could  reach  it 
soon  enough,  he  would  be  able,  without  exposing  him- 

330 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

self,  to  observe  the  grotesque  difference  between  his 
fancy  and  actual  fact.  His  activity  was  such  that  he 
was  hidden  in  a  shelter  of  firs  and  brambles  just  at  the 
moment  when  both  the  figures  observed  by  him  were 
approaching  a  difficult  stile  at  a  level  somewhat  lower 
than  his  own.  For  a  minute  he  could  see  neither  of 
them,  but  he  heard  with  extreme  distinctness  the  elder 
of  the  two  calling  out  to  the  younger:  "I  really  can't 
allow  you  to  go  a  single  step  farther.  Dr.  Thistlewood's 
orders  were  that  I  was  to  bring  you  back  by  nine.  And 
you've  been  and  put  on  those  things  which  I  told  you 
not  to  wear.  You  know  that  they're  not  yours.  They 
were  left  in  the  wardrobe  by  mistake." 

At  the  mention  of  Dr.  Thistlewood's  name  Mr.  Barton 
started  violently,  and  shifted  his  position  so  as  to  see 
who  the  speaker  and  her  companion  were.  The  speaker 
was  evidently  an  attendant  who  had  some  kind  of  au- 
thority, and  the  person  addressed —  Mr.  Barton  could 
hardly  believe  his  eyes.  It  actually  seemed  to  him  that 
his  wild  idea  was  true;  for  the  person  addressed,  unless 
his  senses  were  playing  him  false,  was  the  living  image 
of  Miss  Vivian. 

Surprise  paralyzed  him.  He  stared  again  to  see  if  he 
was  not  deceiving  himself.  Then  his  heart  sank,  and  he 
felt  that  he  had  been  his  own  dupe.  The  hat  and  coat 
she  was  wearing — he  knew  them  only  too  well.  They 
were  those  worn  by  Miss  Wynn  on  her  arrival  in  her 
aunt's  drawing-room.  He  had  never  seen  such  articles 
on  the  person  of  a  lady  before.  What  madness  could 
have  induced  him  to  take  this  girl  for  her  sister?  He 
looked  once  more,  and  then  he  understood  the  reason. 
Her  hair,  which  she  was  accustomed  to  wear  so  ar- 
ranged as  to  suggest  a  boy's,  had  now  been  crimped  and 
curled  in  close  imitation  of  Miss  Vivian's,  and  had  thus 
given  to  her  face  the  likeness  which  had  deceived  his 
fancy.  He  also  noticed  that  the  edge  of  a  braided  skirt, 
which  appeared  below  her  coat  with  its  large  masculine 
buttons,  closely  resembled  one  which  he  remembered 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

Miss  Vivian  wearing.  It  was  doubtless  to  this  garment 
that  her  companion  had  just  alluded.  So  Miss  Enid 
Wynn  had  not  yet  gone,  after  all!  But  what,  he  began 
to  ask  himself,  was  the  meaning  of  these  new  oddities? 

His  mental  question  was  interrupted  by  the  sound  of 
the  girl's  voice. 

"  I  had  to  come  out,"  she  said,  in  a  tone  which  was  not 
distinctive.  "  I  couldn't  find  some  of  my  own  things, 
so  I  took  what  I  could  lay  my  hands  upon.  And  look 
here — is  it  necessary  for  me  to  keep  this  on  any  longer  ?" 

"Oh,"  said  the  woman,  reassuringly,  "you're  worry- 
ing about  that,  are  you?  No.  Dr.  Thistlewood  said 
particularly  that  that  was  to  come  off  now." 

Mr.  Barton  moved  forward  for  an  inch  or  two  in  order 
to  see  what  fresh  point  was  at  issue.  The  girl  was  lean- 
ing against  the  stile,  and  one  of  her  hands  was  resting 
on  the  topmost  bar.  From  the  wrist,  for  a  distance  of 
some  inches  up  the  arm,  Mr.  Barton  recognized  the  long 
strip  of  black  sticking-plaster  like  that  which,  as  he  well 
remembered,  Miss  Wynn  had  been  fixing  in  its  place 
when  the  character  of  the  costume  in  which  she  appeared 
before  him  had  only  astonished  him  less  than  the  con- 
versation that  followed  it. 

In  a  moment  an  illuminating  thought  made  him  feel 
that  he  had  solved  the  riddle.  This  girl,  Miss  Wynn, 
before  finally  quitting  the  scenes  of  her  recent  misde- 
meanors, was  preparing  to  cover  her  retreat  with  one 
last  reckless  prank.  She  was  going  to  revisit  Cliff's  End 
dressed  up  as  Miss  Vivian,  and  convert  the  welcome  that 
would  meet  her  into  the  comedy  of  a  new  farewell.  In 
all  probability  her  part  was  being  now  rehearsed.  Ex- 
cept for  the  hat  and  coat,  her  disguise  was  complete 
already.  In  the  course  of  the  morning  these  defects 
would  be  doubtless  remedied,  and  then,  unless  she  should 
be  hindered,  the  play  would  be  played  out.  No  wonder, 
so  Mr.  Barton  reflected,  Dr.  Thistlewood  was  anxious 
that  these  sisters  should  not  meet,  and  that  one  of  them 
should  not  arrive  till  the  other  was  safely  gone.  As  to 

332 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

the  trick  itself,  Mr.  Barton,  though  he  had  no  humor  in 
him,  could  yet  imagine  that  fools  might  find  in  it  food 
for  laughter,  and  the  idea  of  it  having  once  occurred  to 
him  caused  him  no  surprise.  Degrading  as  it  was,  there 
was  morally  no  great  harm  in  it.  It  might,  moreover, 
never  be  carried  out,  and  for  various  reasons  he  felt  no 
call  to  interfere  with  it.  One  of  these  reasons  was  a  re- 
luctance, now  intensified,  to  come  into  personal  contact 
again  with  this  girl  whom  his  presence  might  exasperate 
into  fresh  blasphemies;  and  a  fear  that  if,  as  during  the 
course  of  the  present  day,  he  should  call  at  Cliff's  End 
to  hear  when  Miss  Vivian  was  expected,  Miss  Wynn 
might  still  be  there  in  the  act  of  deceiving  the  family, 
made  him  resolve  that  his  visit  should  in  any  case  be 
put  off  till  to-morrow,  by  which  time  the  possibility  of 
any  such  incidents  would  be  over. 

All  at  once  it  occurred  to  him — for  he  was  naturally  a 
most  honorable  man — that,  in  lingering  where  he  was, 
he  was  playing  the  part  of  an  eavesdropper,  and  that 
nothing  would  justify  him  in  remaining  to  hear  more. 
He  accordingly  managed  to  withdraw  himself  to  a  dis- 
creet distance,  his  movement  being  favored  by  a  hedge, 
and,  feeling  that  to  look  was  more  legitimate  than  to 
listen,  he  presently  satisfied  himself  that  both  the  sub- 
jects of  his  observation  were  taking  their  way  back  again 
in  the  direction  of  the  Turkish  Castle,  and  that  he,  on 
his  homeward  course,  would  be  safe  from  the  attention 
of  either  of  them. 

Meanwhile,  at  Cliff's  End  preparations  were  in  happy 
progress  for  the  absentee's  return.  Dr.  Thistlewood  him- 
self made  his  appearance  in  the  morning,  and,  closeted 
with  Lady  Susannah,  gave  her  various  hints,  which  he 
requested  her  to  communicate  to  her  family,  with  regard 
to  the  manner  in  which  her  niece  should  be  treated ;  nor 
was  he  content  till  he  had  interviewed  Miss  Vivian's 
maid  also,  securing  attention  to  his  orders  by  a  very 
handsome  gratuity.  Of  Miss  Wynn  he  merely  said: 

"We  couldn't  get  her  off  our  hands  quite  as  soon  as 
333 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

we  had  hoped  to  do ;  but  every  trace  of  the  accident  has 
by  this  time  disappeared,  and  her  father  will  assure  you, 
should  you  wish  to  make  inquiries — though  I  don't  ad- 
vise you  to  do  so,  for  I  think  it  would  only  trouble  him — 
that  for  some  time  at  least  she'll  get  into  no  more  mis- 
chief. As  for  Miss  Vivian,  I  shall  meet  her  and  bring 
her,  when  we  reach  Southquay,  to  the  Turkish  Castle  for 
an  hour  or  so — a  step  I  could  not  take  before — and  then 
drive  her  over,  and  restore  her  to  you,  late  in  the  after- 
noon to-morrow." 

The  whole  of  the  following  morning  Miss  Arundel 
and  the  discreet  maid  devoted  themselves  to  the  task  of 
getting  Miss  Vivian's  rooms  in  order.  Her  boxes  were 
unpacked;  her  clothes  were  disposed  in  wardrobes;  her 
books  were  taken  from  their  hiding  -  places  and  ar- 
ranged in  their  old  stations.  Even  the  box  of  incense 
again  stood  on  the  chimney-piece,  and  the  properties  of 
Miss  Wynn,  from  her  wading-boots,  her  fish-hooks,  and 
her  sporting  novels  upward,  were  relegated  to  their  old 
receptacles,  ready  to  be  forwarded,  when  necessary,  as 
her  parents  or  Dr.  Thistlewood  might  direct. 

Late  that  evening  Mr.  Barton  received  a  letter  from 
Lady  Susannah,  which  threw  some  light  on  the  nature 
of  Dr.  Thistlewood's  communications  with  herself.  She 
wrote : 

"  DEAR  MR.  BARTON, — At  last  I  have  good  news  for  you.  Dr. 
Thistlewood  called  this  morning  and  told  me  certain  things 
which  throw  some  sort  of  light  on  the  nature  of  Nest's  late  ill- 
ness, and  which,  when  we  talk  to  her,  he  wishes  us  all  to  remem- 
ber. Like  most  people,  he  says,  who  have  suffered  in  the  same 
way,  she  has  no  idea  of  the  time  for  which  her  illness  has  lasted. 
It  seems  to  her  to  be  no  more  than  a  week.  Indeed,  she  fancies 
that  during  this  supposed  week,  except  for  the  last  two  days, 
when  she  was  taken  away  for  change  of  air,  she  has  been  kept 
at  the  Turkish  Castle,  where  she  fell  asleep,  as  you  know,  di- 
rectly after  the  thunder-storm.  It  all  seems  very  odd  and  mud- 
dled, but  Dr.  Thistlewood  says  that  there's  nothing  in  it  at  all 
unusual.  He  says,  however,  that  at  first  the  right  thing  is  to 
humor  her  and  accept  what  she  appears  to  think,  and  not  puz- 

334 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

zle  her  by  making  a  fuss  about  it.  For  this  reason  he  has  put 
off  her  return  till  to-morrow,  for  he  wants,  before  bringing  her 
here,  to  take  her  to  the  Turkish  Castle,  where  some  of  her  things 
have  been  sent,  so  as  to  keep  up  the  illusion.  You  will,  I  am 
sure,  agree  that  the  little  deception  is  harmless.  I  tell  you  all 
this  so  that  you  may  do  what  we  are  doing,  and  avoid  saying 
anything  which  might  show  how  long  she  has  been  unwell  really. 
.You  would  probably  wish  that  your  first  meeting  with  her 
should  be  private,  so  I  will  not  ask  you  to  be  here  on  her  ar- 
rival. I  will  tell  her,  unless  I  hear  from  you  to  the  contrary, 
that  you  will  call  to  inquire  for  her  the  day  after,  at  your  usual 
hour;  and,  of  course,  I  shall  not  hint  at  any  suspicion  on  my 
part  as  to  your  intention  in  coming  or  her  expectations  in  re- 
ceiving you." 


CHAPTER  X 

EST,  my  dearest  Nest!" — such  was  Lady  Susan- 
nah's  exclamation  when,  gently  pushed  forward 
by  Dr.  Thistlewood,  Miss  Vivian  made  once  more  her 
appearance  in  the  Cliff's  End  drawing-room;  and  Miss 
Arundel  and  her  brothers,  together  with  Mr.  George 
Carlton,  who,  from  motives  of  economy  and  affection, 
was  condescending  to  prolong  his  visit,  each  added  a 
contribution  to  the  general  chorus  of  welcome. 

As  Mr.  Carlton  afterward  put  it,  in  his  own  elegant 
language,  "  she  stood  there  as  if  she  were  just  out  of  a 
bandbox,  all  slimness  and  e"cru,  with  her  coat  caught  in 
at  her  waist,  and  her  delicious  little  black  gloves  match- 
ing her  crisp  black  hat,  whose  distracting  brim  had  a 
curl  in  it  like  a  breaking  wave."  For  a  moment  she  hesi- 
tated with  a  laughing  apology  in  her  eyes,  as  though  her 
absence  and  illness  had  been  due  to  some  fault  or  folly 
of  her  own.  A  moment  later  her  aunt's  arms  had  been 
round  her,  Miss  Arundel  had  made  a  maidenly  peck  at 
her  cheek,  she  was  drinking  a  cup  of  tea,  and  was  no 
longer  a  stranger. 

In  the  opinion  of  all  her  friends  she  had  never  been 
looking  better,  and  in  honor  of  the  occasion  Dr.  Thistle- 
wood,  though  not  dressed,  was  readily  induced  to  re- 
main at  Cliff's  End  for  dinner.  Lady  Susannah  was  not 
slow  in  divining  that  one  of  his  reasons  for  doing  this 
was  a  wish  by  his  own  behavior  to  set  an  example  of 
how  his  late  patient  should  be  treated.  He  did  not  fail 
to  say  that  she  had  made  a  very  rapid  recovery,  nodding 
to  her  pleasantly  over  a  glass  of  champagne  as  he  did  so, 
but  his  tone  and  manner  made  light  of  her  whole  malady, 

336 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

and  his  sole  further  allusion  to  it  was  not  expressed  di- 
rectly, but  only  implied  in  his  telling,  and  inviting  others 
to  tell  her  of  various  events  which  had  happened  while 
she  was,  as  he  said,  "  laid  up."  Nor  was  she,  as  she  sat 
among  them  in  her  tea-gown,  whose  rosy  silks  whitened 
round  her  throat  and  wrists  in  a  foam  of  lace  and  chiffon, 
a  spectacle  to  invite  condolences.  One  of  the  pieces  of 
news  which  gave  vivacity  to  the  occasion  was  that  Os- 
wald's departure  for  Constantinople  was  now  definitely 
arranged,  on  hearing  which  she  forthwith  discomposed 
him  by  an  allusion  to  some  of  his  romantic  Eastern 
sketches.  "  You  will  soon  yourself,"  she  said,  "  be  mak- 
ing love  in  a  turban."  Oswald's  blushes,  however,  had 
ample  time  to  subside  while  the  further  news  was  being 
imparted  to  her  of  the  Southquay  election  and  its  result. 
Then  the  blush  was  transferred  from  Oswald's  cheeks  to 
hers,  and  she  showed  a  considerable  reluctance  to  quit 
this  important  subject  until,  as  the  meal  was  ending,  the 
fact  was  casually  mentioned  that  Sir  Rawlin  had  gone 
to  London  to  take  his  seat  in  the  House,  where  he  had 
met  with  the  most  nattering  reception.  Over  the  bright- 
ness of  the  girl's  face  there  passed  something  like  a  faint 
cloud-shadow.  Her  eyes  fixed  themselves  on  her  plate, 
and  Dr.  Thistlewood,  whom  nothing  escaped,  saw  a 
movement  of  her  silks  and  laces  which,  while  masking, 
revealed  a  sigh. 

"Of  course,"  he  hastened  to  add,  "when  this  session 
is  over,  as  it  will  be  in  a  few  days,  our  member  is  coming 
back  for  Easter,  to  thank  his  loyal  constituents."  The 
girl  threw  a  quick  glance  at  him,  which  she  no  less  quick- 
ly withdrew,  and  a  movement  of  her  laces  followed,  even 
more  unmistakable  than  the  first.  "  I'll  tell  you  what," 
he  said  to  Lady  Susannah,  "you  mustn't  allow  that 
young  person  to  go  sitting  up  late  this  evening.  Put 
her  to  bed.  That's  my  parting  prescription,  and  let  us 
hope  it  will  be  long  before  she  wants  another.  As  for 
me,  I  must  be  getting  back  to  my  host.  Sleep  well," 
he  said  to  the  girl,  who  smiled  at  him  with  confidential 

337 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

gratitude,  "  and  pleasant  dreams  to  you — or,  better  still, 
no  dreams  at  all." 

Dr.  Thistle  wood's  parting  benediction  had  apparently 
the  best  results.  Miss  Vivian,  next  morning,  somewhat 
pensive  indeed,  but  with  a  pensiveness  which  was  highly 
becoming  to  her  and  did  nothing  to  dim  her  freshness, 
took  up  the  threads  of  her  life  again  as  though  nothing 
had  broken;  and  Lady  Susannah,  on  mentioning  Mr. 
Barton's  name  to  her,  and  the  fact  that  he  was  hop- 
ing to  come  and  see  her  that  afternoon,  was  interested 
to  observe  the  pleasure  with  which  she  received  the 
news. 

As  for  Mr.  Barton  himself,  everything  was  done  that 
could  be  done  to  render  his  visit  easy  for  him.  Lady 
Susannah  despatched  a  further  note  to  him  to  say  that 
her  niece  would  expect  him  at  half-past  five,  adding  that 
he  need  not  trouble  himself  to  inquire  for  anybody  else, 
but  would  find  her,  on  his  arrival,  awaiting  him  in  the 
green  boudoir. 

As  the  hour  drew  near  his  agitation  increased.  Occu- 
pation became  impossible  for  him;  his  own  rooms  felt 
like  a  prison,  and  once  again  he  did  what  he  had  done 
yesterday — he  went  over  the  hill  to  the  path  by  the 
cliff's  edge,  so  that  even  before  he  met  her  he  might 
enjoy  the  sense  of  her  neighborhood  and  watch  the  tops 
of  the  ilexes  whose  shadows  again  sheltered  her.  The 
landscape  to-day  held  no  other  human  being  but  him- 
self. The  sinister  figure  of  Miss  Enid  Wynn  was  absent. 
Whatever  mischief  she  had  been  planning  two  days  ago 
she  had  gone  without  accomplishing  it;  for  the  fact  of 
departure  was  now  beyond  a  doubt,  and  the  air  seemed 
lighter  in  consequence.  And  yet,  for  a  moment,  the 
recurrence  of  her  image  troubled  him,  coming  like 
a  cloud  between  him  and  his  own  approaching  bliss. 
Here,  he  reflected,  were  two  immortal  souls,  committed 
by  God  to  bodies  in  many  ways  closely  similar,  and  sur- 
rounded also  by  closely  similar  conditions,  yet  mak- 
ing such  different  returns  to  Him  for  His  love  and  for 

338 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

His  gift  of  life.  "  That  wretched  child,"  he  said  to  him- 
self. "  She  received  the  sacrament  of  confirmation 
snickering  at  it.  What  must  have  been  her  first — indeed, 
her  only  —  communion?  That  single  act  of  sacrilege 
would  be  enough  to  account  for  everything.  A  case  like 
this,  at  all  events,  teaches  us  one  thing — that  no  likeness 
whatever  between  two  physical  organisms  can  impose 
any  common  fatality  on  the  two  souls  which  inhabit 
them.  It's  a  pity  that  men  like  this  wonderful  Dr. 
Thistlewood  are  blind  to  the  meaning  of  facts  which 
are  lying  at  their  own  doors."  Here  was  a  thought 
which  braced  him,  and  under  its  stimulus  the  image 
of  Miss  Wynn  faded,  and  its  place  was  occupied  wholly 
by  one  to  whom  spiritual  aspiration  was  as  natural 
an  act  as  breathing,  and  to  think  of  whom  was  to 
praise  God.  "Tantum  ergo  sacramentum,"  he  mur- 
mured, with  his  coming  marriage  in  his  heart.  He 
looked  at  his  watch.  The  appointed  hour  was  near; 
and  at  once,  with  eager  strides,  he  began  to  hurry 
toward  the  garden  gate. 

In  spite  of  the  delay  he  had  imposed  on  himself,  he 
was  a  little  before  his  time;  and  when  he  was  ushered 
into  the  green  boudoir  he  found  himself  alone  with  his 
expectancy.  The  air  was  alive  with  sacred  and  over- 
powering memories.  There  were  the  china  cups  with 
which  Miss  Vivian  had  trifled  as  she  stood  coming  to 
terms  with  her  own  inmost  thoughts,  just  before  her 
manner  had  undergone  its  abrupt  change,  and  she  had 
turned  round  at  last  and  begun  to  open  her  heart  to 
him.  There,  too,  by  the  fire,  was  the  chair  into  which, 
like  a  drift  of  rose-petals,  she  had  sunk  when  she  called 
him  to  her  side.  On  one  of  its  walnut- wood  arms  he 
could  still  see  her  hand  resting.  He  could  still  see  the 
mystery  of  the  heavens  in  the  invitation  of  her  languid 
eyes.  There,  too,  was  the  spot  where  he  himself  had 
knelt.  For  a  moment  he  knelt  again,  and  kissed  the 
piece  of  walnut  carving  on  which  her  hand  had  rested. 
He  had  just  risen  when  a  shadow  crossed  the  window, 

339 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

and  he  caught  sight  of  a  flicker  which  he  knew  to  be 
Miss  Vivian's  dress. 

A  few  seconds  later  the  door  had  opened,  and  she  was 
before  him. 

"Mr.  Barton!  "  she  exclaimed.  "How  glad  I  am  to 
see  you  again !"  In  her  manner  there  was  a  slight  melan- 
choly, but  her  eyes  sparkled  with  welcome,  and  her  hand 
in  its  white  glove  held  his  with  a  firm  pressure,  unlike 
the  brusque  withdrawal  familiar  to  him  in  former  days. 
Still  he  experienced  a  certain  perplexed  disappointment. 
This  was  not  quite  the  greeting  he  had  counted  on,  when 
he  rehearsed  the  scene  in  expectation.  She  was  not  re- 
suming their  intercourse  where  it  had  left  off.  He  was 
able,  however,  to  make  infinite  allowances.  A  young 
girl,  whose  feelings  were  naturally  of  an  exquisite  deli- 
cacy, might  not  find  it  easy,  he  reflected,  to  bring  her- 
self, after  a  long  separation,  into  the  mood  which  ha,d 
accompanied  an  unconventional  expression  of  her  love; 
and  his  chivalry  was  already  forbidding  him  to  take  any 
premature  advantage  of  it.  He  was,  indeed,  beginning 
to  feel  embarrassed  himself,  though  his  own  love,  under 
the  surface,  was  more  wildly  alive  than  ever.  He  would 
take  his  time.  Their  complete  reunion  should  be  grad- 
ual, and,  meanwhile,  he  withdrew  his  eyes  from  their 
reverent  contemplation  of  her  lips. 

"They  say,"  she  continued,  "that  I've  been  ill  for  I 
don't  know  how  many  days.  Well,  I  suppose  it's  true. 
Something  like  this  has  happened  to  me  once  or  twice 
before.  Do  you  know,  it  seems  to  me,  if  I  went  by  my 
own  impressions,  that  I  saw  you  only  yesterday." 

"Does  it!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Barton,  his  voice  at  once 
growing  eager.  "  It  seems  to  me  not  only  that  I  saw 
you  yesterday,  but  that  I  have  seen  you  always — every 
moment  since  your  illness  kept  you  from  us.  It  seems 
to  me  that  I  have  never  seen  anything  else." 

"  You,"  she  said,  gently,  "  have  always  been  very  good 
to  me.  If  things  were  ever  to  go  wrong  with  me,  I  feel 
that  I  should  turn  to  you  and  you  would  show  me  the 

340 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

way  out.  But  I  can't  quite  tell  yet.  Last  night,  Mr. 
Barton,  I  was  reading  your  own  book  again." 

"Were  you?"  said  Mr.  Barton.  "Were  you?  I  gave 
my  soul  to  that  book.  May  I  think  that  my  poor  little 
book  is  giving  my  soul  to  yours?  Look  at  me.  Look 
at  me.  I  was  beginning — do  you  know  what  I  was  be- 
ginning to  do  ?  I  was  beginning  to  wonder,  for  a  mo- 
ment, whether  you  had  forgotten  our  last  meeting.  Tell 
me — tell  me  truly — do  you  still  remember  what  we  said 
at  it?" 

Miss  Vivian  sank  into  the  chair  which  she  had  occu- 
pied on  the  former  occasion. 

"Do  you  think,"  she  said,  with  a  glance  of  friendly 
reproach  at  him,  "  that  I  am  at  all  likely  to  forget  ?  You 
must  think  me  very  superficial  if  you  do." 

Mr.  Barton  took  a  chair  near  hers,  murmuring  as  he 
did  so:  "  Yes,  sit  there  —  sit  there.  You  were  sitting 
there  when  I  left  you." 

"Dear  Mr.  Barton,"  she  continued,  "I  remember  all 
our  meetings.  This  wretched  little  illness  of  mine  has 
not  made  me  a  fool.  I  remember  what  you  said  at  each 
of  them.  The  last  one — yes,  I  remember  that  best  of 
all." 

Mr.  Barton  leaned  quickly  forward,  and  laid  his  hand 
on  hers.  Her  own  was  at  once  withdrawn;  but,  as 
though  to  atone  for  this  proceeding,  she  leaned  in  turn 
toward  him,  and  fixed  on  him  eyes  full  of  that  inward 
sadness  which  requires  so  little  to  turn  it  into  the  long- 
ings and  the  dreams  of  a  devotee. 

"  Yes,"  she  continued,  "  at  our  last  meeting  you  spoke 
about  the  soul  which  cannot  die,  which  can  be  injured 
by  itself  only,  and  which  will  be  our  living  fate  forever. 
You  spoke,  too,  about  the  blessed  sacrament,  and  about 
the  uplifting  of  our  whole  natures;  and  you  said  that 
God  demanded  these  of  us,  and  would  satisfy  all  their 
longings  for  what  is  high  and  beautiful,  giving  us  even 
more  than  we  can  imagine.  You  are  the  only  person 
who  has  ever  really  shown  me  how  religion  means  the 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

satisfaction  of  our  natures  taken  as  a  whole,  and  is  not 
merely  something  that  we  have  to  do  with  in  church- 
time  or  during  our  private  prayers.  And  you  asked  me 
to  think  of  you — this  touched  me  very  much — as  being 
yourself  my  companion  and  helper  in  efforts  which  must 
be  made  by  both  of  us.  No,  you  see  I  have  not  for- 
gotten what  you  said  at  our  last  meeting." 

Mr.  Barton,  as  he  listened  to  these  words,  had  grown 
gradually  paler,  and  his  head  had  begun  to  swim. 

"I  think,"  he  answered,  faintly,  "that  the  meeting 
when  I  said  all  or  any  of  these  things  to  you  was  not 
our  last." 

"I'm  sure  it  was,"  she  said,  with  a  semi-playful  in- 
sistence. "Not  that  it  makes  much  matter  whether  it 
was  the  last  or  first,  for,  whichever  it  was,  I  should  re- 
member the  impression  you  made  upon  me.  But  still, 
if  you  insist,  I'll  prove  that  I'm  right  in  a  minute  or 
two.  There's  a  pin  or  something  which  is  pricking  me. 
Just  let  me  put  that  right  first." 

As  she  spoke  she  rose  and,  unbuttoning  one  of  her 
gloves,  went  to  the  window,  whose  shutters  were  pan- 
elled with  strips  of  looking-glass.  In  a  state  bordering 
on  stupefaction,  Mr.  Barton  rose  and  followed  her.  The 
idea  had  occurred  to  him  of  helping  her  in  the  impend- 
ing rearrangement  of  her  toilet,  of  thus  getting  posses- 
sion— he  hardly  knew  how — of  her  person,  and  forcing 
her  to  acknowledge  that  interview  which  she  could  not 
mean  to  repudiate.  By  the  time  he  reached  it  she  was 
busy  with  a  small  brooch.  The  glove  which  she  had  be- 
gun to  unbutton  had  now  been  at  length  drawn  off. 
The  evening  light  shone  full  on  her  delicate  hand  and 
wrist,  and  there,  from  the  wrist  upward,  disappearing 
into  the  shadow  of  the  sleeve,  Mr.  Barton  saw  a  scar  pre- 
cisely corresponding  in  its  course  to  a  strip  of  black 
plaster  which,  on  another  occasion,  had  been  pressed  to 
the  arm  of  a  girl  habited  as  an  Albanian  boy. 

"Now  I'm  all  right,"  said  Miss  Vivian,  with  a  slight 
laugh,  the  brooch  having  been  rearranged  and  the  of- 

342 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

fending  pin  refastened.  "And  now,  Mr.  Barton,  I'll 
prove  to  you,  by  a  few  dates,  that  the  last  time  we  met 
here  was —  But  what  in  the  world  is  the  matter  with 
you  ?  Why  do  you  look  like  that  at  me  ?  Are  you  ill  ? 
I'm  afraid  you  must  be." 

Mr.  Barton's  face  was  by  this  time  colorless.  "A 
little."  he  faltered — "  a  little,  perhaps.  But  it's  nothing. 
It  will  pass."  His  voice  ceased,  and  she  stared  at  him. 
"  I  am  feeling,"  he  said,  "  slightly  dizzy.  May  I,  for  just 
one  moment,  ask  you  for  the  support  of  your  hand?" 

She  did  as  he  asked,  and,  aided  by  her,  he  managed  to 
reach  the  chimney-piece.  He  leaned  against  this  for 
a  minute  or  so,  while  the  girl  watched  him  anxiously. 
Then,  unable  apparently  to  bear  the  heat  of  the  fire,  he 
jerked  his  body  forward,  gained  a  neighboring  chair, 
and,  extracting  his  pocket-handkerchief,  began  absently 
to  mop  his  forehead. 

"Tell  me,"  he  said,  gasping,  "how  did  you  hurt  your 
wrist?  I  hardly  know  whom  I'm  talking  to." 

"My  wrist!"  exclaimed  Miss  Vivian,  with  surprise. 
"  I  can't  tell  how  I  hurt  it.  Dr.  Thistlewood  knows.  I 
must  somehow  have  got  it  scratched  when  I  was  ill — 
by  a  nail  in  the  bedpost — he  told  me — I  forget.  It  was 
something  like  that,  I  think.  But  my  scratch  is  nothing. 
The  mark  will  soon  be  gone.  Don't  let  us  talk  of  my 
wrist.  Mr.  Barton,  what  is  it  ?  Let  me  ring  the  bell  for 
some  one.  Shall  we  send  for  a  doctor?  Shall  we  send 
for  Dr.  Thistlewood?" 

Mr.  Barton's  arms  were  by  this  time  crossed  on  a 
table,  his  body  was  bent  forward,  and  his  face  was  help- 
lessly buried  in  them. 

"Not  for  the  world,"  he  exclaimed,  raising  himself 
with  a  spasmodic  effort,  "  though  I  believe  I  shall  have 
to  go  to  him!  It  was  only  a  little  giddiness.  It's  pass- 
ing away  already.  But  I  won't  stop  longer  this  after- 
noon. A  walk  in  the  open  air — that  will  make  me  all 
right  again.  Good-bye.  Don't  ring,  I  beg  of  you.  I 
can  find  my  own  way  out." 

343 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

He  had  opened  the  door  and  was  disappearing,  when 
Miss  Vivian  called  out  after  him: 

"Mr.  Barton!  Mr.  Barton!  aren't  you  going  to  take 
your  hat?  Look,  you  were  going  away  with  my  aunt's 
knitting  instead!" 

That  evening  Dr.  Thistlewood  received  the  following 
letter : 

"  Doctors,  like  priests,  are  men  accustomed  to  confidences,  so 
this  probably  will  not  surprise  you;  but  seeing  that  our  views  of 
life  are  as  the  poles  asunder,  you  may,  perhaps,  be  surprised  at 
my  bringing  any  secrets  of  my  own  to  yourself.  I  have  told  you, 
however,  one  secret  of  mine  already.  When  I  asked  you  in  vain 
for  certain  news  of  Miss  Vivian  I  explained  to  you  the  nature 
of  my  interest  in  her.  I  may  add  in  passing  that  I  have  now 
explained  myself  to  her  father,  and  my  wishes  have  his  full  sanc- 
tion. I  must  ask  you  to  be  patient  while  I  put  the  matter  more 
minutely.  Miss  Vivian,  just  after  her  recovery  from  the  first 
effects  of  the  thunder-storm — on  a  day  when  you  yourself  pro- 
nounced that  she  was  fit  to  receive  a  visitor — told  me,  with  the 
utmost  deliberation  and  with  an  emphasis  the  sincerity  of  which 
it  was  quite  impossible  to  doubt,  that  she  entertained  a  sentiment 
for  myself  similar  to  mine  for  her. 

"  I  have  seen  her  to-day.  Your  treatment  of  her  has  been  so 
far  justified  that  she  has  come  back  in  the  enjoyment  of  complete 
health,  but,  to  my  astonishment — indeed,  it  seems  hardly  credi- 
ble— she  denies  all  recollection  of  everything  said  or  done  by 
her  at  the  inter  Mew  to  which  I  have  made  allusion.  What  is 
the  meaning  of  this?  I  would  stake  my  life  on  her  integrity. 
Can  it  be  that  her  intellect  is  still,  to  some  extent,  clouded  over 
by  her  late  illness  ?  In  the  name  of  common  humanity,  tell  me 
the  naked  truth!  Yes — and  tell  me  this,  too.  The  half-sister, 
Miss  Wynn,  while  she  was  here,  managed  to  wound  her  arm. 
Miss  Vivian's  arm,  as  though  by  a  kind  of  witchcraft,  bears  the 
scar  of  a  wound  which  closely  —  one  may  fancy  absolutely — 
corresponds  to  it.  What  have  you  been  doing  to  her?  What 
have  you  been  allowing  her  to  do?  I  hardly  know  what  to 
think  or  what  to  ask;  but  you  will  recognize,  as  a  man  of  the 
world,  that  I  have  a  right  to  demand  the  truth,  and  I  positively 
will  have  it.  When  can  I  see  you?  We  must  have  it  out  to- 
gether, face  to  face.  Yours,  THEOPHILUS  BARTON." 

The  following  reply  from  Dr.  Thistlewood  was  brought 
back  by  Mr.  Barton's  messenger: 

344 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

"  DEAR  MR.  BARTON, — You  are  right  at  least  as  to  two  things. 
Like  a  priest,  I  am  surprised  at  nothing.  I  am  certainly  not  sur- 
prised at  the  contents  of  your  own  letter.  I  agree  with  you 
that,  since  things  have  happened  as  they  have  happened,  a  re- 
sponse to  your  questions  is  no  more  than  your  due.  To-morrow 
morning,  if  this  suits  your  convenience,  I  will  do  myself  the  honor 
of  calling  on  you,  and  will  then  tell  you  what  I  can.  But  I  fore- 
see two  difficulties;  the  one  is  that  you  will  be  reluctant  to 
believe  the  facts:  the  other  is  that  you  will  be  slow  to  understand 
them.  Yours,  with  sincere  respect, 

"GUSTAV  THISTLEWOOD." 


BOOK    IV 


CHAPTER  I 

MR..  BARTON  was  like  a  man  who,  unkilled,  has 
fallen  from  some  Alpine  height,  and  hardly  dares 
to  conjecture  the  extent  of  his  own  injuries.  His  hopes 
lay  in  ruins  round  him;  his  late  exaltations  mocked  at 
him;  and  from  time  to  time  he  would  shiver  with  a 
vague  fear  of  a  something  behind  his  sorrows  more  ter- 
rible than  these  sorrows  themselves.  Weariness  at  last 
brought  him  its  brute  relief.  He  lay  down,  dressed,  on 
his  bed,  and  slept  like  a  log  till  morning. 

"Can  I,  in  common  humanity,  tell  him  all  the  truth  at 
once  ?  He  would  hardly  understand  it  if  I  did  tell  him. 
No;  poor  creature,  he  must  have  it  in  small  doses.  If 
he  will  only  be  wise,  I  need  never  tell  him  more  than 
half." 

Such  was  the  tenor  of  Dr.  Thistlewood's  reflections  as 
he  walked  to  Mr.  Barton's  house.  Mr.  Barton  greeted 
him  with  a  brave  effort  at  self-possession,  but  his  face 
was  haggard,  the  rims  of  his  eyes  were  red,  and  when, 
having  seated  himself,  he  leaned  his  head  on  his  hand, 
his  gaze  was  the  gaze  of  one  who  sees  everything  round 
him  waver. 

Dr.  Thistlewood's  first  impulse  was  to  ply  him  with 
some  moral  restorative. 

"Well,"  he  began,  in  a  voice  which  was  grave  but  not 
too  solemn,  "as  you've  made  me  your  confidant  before, 
I  quite  understand  your  position — or  I  think  I  do.  If 
I'm  not  right,  tell  me.  Let  me  do  the  talking  first.  That 
will  make  things  much  easier.  Miss  Vivian,  before  her 
illness,  made  you  some  avowal  or  other  which  distinctly 
implied  that  she  was  willing  to  become  your  wife.  The 

349 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

moment  she  gets  her  health  back  you  see  her,  you 
remind  her  of  the  incident,  and  this  curious  young  lady 
disclaims  all  knowledge  of  what  you  are  talking  about. 
You  are  also  startled  by  observing  a  certain  scar  on  her 
arm.  You  think,  perhaps,  that  during  her  illness  she 
has  been  the  victim  of  some  dark  experiments.  Any- 
how, here  are  your  mysteries,  and  you  want  me  to  clear 
up  these." 

Mr.  Barton  nodded,  adding  faintly  the  words:  "I  do." 

"I'm  afraid,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "that  to  clear 
them  up  entirely  would  be  rather  a  long  business.  We 
couldn't  manage  that  this  morning.  But  Miss  Vivian's 
behavior  to  yourself — that,  unusual  as  it  is,  is  a  com- 
paratively simple  matter;  and  though,  when  I  explain 
it,  I  can't  promise  not  to  pain  you,  you  will,  on  the 
whole — so  I  think — find  yourself  much  relieved.  Now, 
my  good  friend,  listen.  You  as  a  priest  have  seen  many 
cases  of  fever.  People  in  fever  exhibit  many  freaks  of 
forgetfulness." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  wearily,  "that's  common 
enough.  Once,  when  skating,  I  fell  and  knocked  the 
back  of  my  head.  When  I'd  picked  myself  up  I'd  for- 
gotten my  way  home.  But  don't  try  to  gull  me  with 
this  kind  of  false  analogy.  To  forget  a  detail  is  one 
thing.  To  have  lost,  apparently,  an  inmost  disposition 
of  the  heart — to  have  had  it  wiped  out  in  a  week  or 
two — this  is  quite  another." 

"Wait  a  bit,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood.  "We  as  yet  have 
but  half  the  story.  I  began  with  the  phenomenon  of 
mere  forgetfulness,  so  as  to  put  you  on  the  right  track. 
Let  us  now  go  back  from  the  forgetfulness  to  the  details 
of  the  thing  forgotten.  The  meeting  at  which  Miss 
Vivian  gave  you  reason  to  believe  in  her  affection  for 
you — do  you  remember  that  I  called  on  you  the  morn- 
ing after  it  occurred  ?  I  had  no  suspicion,  at  the  time,  of 
the  subjects  that  were  discussed  between  you.  I  had 
no  desire  to  find  out.  The  questions  I  asked  you  were 
of  a  purely  medical  kind.  Did  you  notice  in  Miss  Viv- 

35° 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

ian's  demeanor  any  unusual  symptoms  ?  You  did,  and 
you  told  me  what  they  were.  I  may  tell  you  now, 
though  I  don't  think  I  said  so  then  and  there,  that  they 
were  just  what  I  had  foreseen  they  would  be  from  my 
knowledge  of  kindred  cases.  In  the  course  of  the  inter- 
view Miss  Vivian's  manner  changed.  It  had  been  dull 
and  apathetic  at  first.  Then,  with  a  marked  abruptness, 
it  became  just  the  reverse.  Then,  you  remember,  she 
asked  you  one  or  two  questions  which  you  yourself  at 
the  time  noticed  as  being  rather  odd.  She  spoke  of  your 
having  come  back,  as  though  you'd  only  just  left  the 
house;  and  she  asked  you  if  you'd  entered  through  the 
conservatory,  when  no  such  mode  of  entrance  at  Cliff's 
End  was  possible.  She  also  made  use  of  a  rather  curious 
locution.  'So  and  so,'  she  said  to  you,  'is  what  Mr. 
Barton  tells  us.'  ' 

"Your  own  memory,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  with  a  sort  of 
aimless  sarcasm,  "shows  no  signs  of  failing  you.  To 
me  these  little  peculiarities  all  seemed  very  natural." 

"You  admit,"  Dr.  Thistlewood  continued,  "that  fever 
may  cause  forgetfulness.  You  cannot  be  less  familiar 
with  the  fact  that  it  may  produce  delusions.  You  have 
doubtless  seen  patients  tossing  about  in  their  beds  who 
fancy  that  a  bedroom  in  London  is  a  veranda  in  Hong- 
Kong.  They  constantly  make  mistakes  as  to  the  identity 
of  the  people  round  them — a  nurse  is  taken  for  a  mother, 
a  doctor  for  a  son  or  husband.  Also,  hallucinations  of 
this  kind — here  you  have  another  familiar  fact — will 
develop  themselves  quite  suddenly  and  will  cease  as 
suddenly  as  they  developed  themselves." 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  with  an  air  of  quickened  at- 
tention, "I  am  listening.  Pray  go  on." 

"I  should  like,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "to  give  you 
an  interesting  example  of  this,  supplied  by  the  case  of 
a  young  woman  in  America,  of  which  some  day  I  may 
tell  you  more.  A  whole  book  has  been  written  about 
her  by  a  well-known  Boston  doctor.  The  young  woman, 
who  had  been  disordered  by  a  severe  nervous  shock, 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

exhibited  symptoms  like  those  we  have  just  been  talk- 
ing of,  and  she  would  sometimes  do  so  with  a  sudden- 
ness by  which  her  doctor  himself  was  bewildered.  One 
day,  when  her  health  was  seemingly  quite  restored  to 
her,  she  called  at  the  hospital  of  which  he  was  the  dis- 
tinguished head  to  consult  him  in  his  own  room.  When 
she  entered  she  struck  him  as  being  so  listless  that  she 
had  hardly  go  enough  to  tell  him  what  was  the  matter 
with  her.  But  presently,  without  any  warning,  she  gave 
a  start  as  if  she  saw  him  there  for  the  first  time,  and 
began  to  talk  to  him  about  matters  of  which  he  un- 
derstood nothing.  In  a  minute  or  two  he  realized  that 
she  was  calling  him  by  a  name  other  than  his  own.  When 
he  told  her  what  his  own  was  she  insisted  that  he  was 
talking  nonsense.  Not  till  long  afterward  did  he  dis- 
cover that,  there  before  his  very  eyes,  her  mind — let  us 
put  it  this  way — through  some  infirmity  of  the  body, 
had  been  playing  her  one  of  those  curious  tricks  we 
spoke  about.  Several  years  of  life  had  disappeared 
from  her  memory.  To  her  the  physician  now  appeared 
to  be  a  former  lover,  and  she  imagined  herself  to  be 
completing  a  scene  with  him  which  had  been  interrupted 
several  years  ago.  I  tell  you  this  anecdote,  Mr.  Barton 
— have  you  any  idea  why  ?  I  tell  it  you  because  the  in- 
cident I  have  just  described  is  undoubtedly  parallel  to 
that  which  took  place  between  Miss  Vivian  and  your- 
self. At  a  given  moment,  as  you  noticed,  there  was  an 
alteration  in  her  voice  and  manner.  Up  to  that  mo- 
ment she  knew  you  for  what  you  are.  From  that 
moment  onward  she  took  you  for  some  one  else.  She 
believed  herself  to  be  in  some  different  place,  and  to 
be  continuing  with  that  other  person  an  incident,  or  a 
series  of  incidents,  belonging  to  a  different  time." 

Mr.  Barton's  face  was  pale.  At  last  he  managed  to 
stammer:  "Impossible!  What  incidents?  And  with 
whom?" 

"How  can  I  tell?"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  avoiding  Mr. 
Barton's  eye.  "The  incidents  and  the  other  person 

352 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

were  most  likely  imaginary.  For  Miss  Vivian  the  scene, 
at  all  events,  had  no  association  with  yourself.  Well, 
Mr.  Barton,  this  fact,  though  it  very  naturally  disap- 
points you,  has  yet  a  consolatory  side  to  it.  It  entirely 
does  away  with  any  possible  supposition  on  your  part 
that  Miss  Vivian  has  been  guilty  of  intentional  lev- 
ity toward  yourself.  Further,  on  your  own  showing, 
though  she  took  you  for  somebody  else,  and  could  in 
consequence  have  had  no  intention  of  flattering  you, 
she  spoke  of  you  with  very  deep  regard,  and  quoted 
with  deep  feeling  your  own  words  to  her  imaginary 
hearer." 

Mr.  Barton's  pallor  was  at  last  tempered  by  a  blush. 
"I  am  conscious,"  he  said,  "of  the  delicacy  with  which 
you  touch  on  these  private  matters.  If  facts  are  as 
you  say  they  are,  I  may  perhaps  find  some  consolation 
in  them.  But,  God  help  me,  Dr.  Thistlewood,  I  feel  that 
you  are  only  playing  with  me.  I  feel  that  there  is  some- 
thing in  the  background  to  which  as  yet  you  have  not 
even  alluded.  How  did  she  get  that  scar?  Yes,  Dr. 
Thistlewood,  how  did  Miss  Vivian,  at  the  time  in  a  state 
of  torpor,  and  under  your  own  care,  or  the  care  of  one 
of  your  subordinates,  come  to  have  her  arm  mutilated 
in  a  manner  so  closely  imitative  of  the  wound  received 
by  Miss  Wynn — it  doesn't  matter  how — at  Southquay? 
Don't  try  to  put  me  off  by  referring  to  your  story  of  the 
twins  who  both,  on  the  same  day,  were  scratched  on  the 
right  cheek.  But  I  don't  want  general  analogies.  I  want 
specific  facts.  Miss  Vivian  must  have  been  wounded 
by  something  which  lacerated  her  own  skin,  even  if 
a  hundred  others  had  been  lacerated  in  the  same  way. 
Have  you  been  hacking  her  and  cutting  her  about,  and 
unhinging  her  mind,  so  as  to  see  if  she  bears  pain  in  the 
same  way  as  her  sister?" 

"Come,  come,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood.  "I  could  see 
by  the  way  in  which  you  looked  at  me  that  your  mind 
was  haunted  by  some  wild  idea  of  that  kind.  If  to 
watch  a  patient  is  to  experiment  with  her,  it  is  perfectly 

353 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

true  that  I  have  used  Miss  Vivian  as  a  subject;  but  the 
experiments  have  been  proposed  by  the  young  lady  on 
herself.  You  may  possibly  compel  me,  if  you  are  ob- 
stinate, to  tell  you  everything  some  day;  but  for  your 
sake  and  for  hers  I  would  much  rather  refrain,  and  in 
no  case  could  I  tell  you  now.  The  matter  is  much  too 
complicated.  Look  here,  Mr.  Barton,  your  feelings  are 
still  unsettled.  You  left  Miss  Vivian  abruptly,  and  took 
away  distorted  impressions  of  her.  Before  you  decide  on 
acquainting  yourself  with  things  that  would  only  trouble 
you,  see  her  again;  see  her  in  the  company  of  others. 
Lord  Cotswold  has  asked  Sir  Rawlin  and  the  Cliff  End 
party  to  dinner  to-night.  Lord  Cotswold  has  commis- 
sioned me  to  say  that  he  hopes  you  will  come,  too. 
Yes,  my  dear  fellow,  come.  It  will  do  you  all  the  good 
in  the  world." 

Pleased  with  this  unexpected  suggestion,  Mr.  Barton 
assented.  His  mind  was  still  haunted  by  some  jealous 
and  inexplicable  fear,  but  in  part  of  what  Dr.  Thistle- 
wood  had  told  him  there  was  some  ground  for  hope. 
It  might,  after  all,  be  possible  for  him  to  rebuild  his  tem- 
ple, though  the  original  fabric,  which  he  had  reared  so 
high,  was  in  ruins. 

Meanwhile,  breathing  the  sunlit  air  without,  Miss 
Vivian  herself,  accompanying  Miss  Nina  Arundel,  had 
gone  for  a  walk  along  the  heights  of  the  New  Drive. 
The  turquoise-colored  sea  below,  breaking  among  the 
hidden  bowlders  with  its  drowsy,  eternal  murmur,  the 
blossoming  tops  of  the  laurels  thrusting  themselves  from 
the  subjacent  gardens,  the  horse-chestnuts,  whose  green 
cressets  were  alight  among  the  gloom  of  the  macrocar- 
pas,  filled  the  girl's  nerves  and  veins  with  that  buoyant 
trouble  of  expectation  which  is  the  soul  alike  of  youth, 
religion,  and  poetry. 

The  two  ladies  were  proceeding  at  a  pleasingly  slow 
pace  when  a  carriage,  just  a  little  less  slow,  overtook  and 
pulled  up  beside  them.  The  occupant  was  old  Mrs. 
Summerfield,  whose  voice,  issuing  from  the  shades  of 

354 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

her  poke  -  bonnet,  was  saying:  "  I  can't  distinguish  your 
face,  but  surely  this  is  Nina." 

Miss  Arundel  admitted  her  identity.  "And  here," 
she  said,  "is  my  cousin  Nest." 

"Oh!"  said  Mrs.  Summerfield,  "that's  pretty  Miss 
Nest  Vivian,  is  it?  She's  a  very  nice  young  lady.  How 
are  you,  my  dear?  Nina,  my  good  soul.  I  want  your 
help  about  something." 

Hereupon  there  ensued  a  long  conversation  with  re- 
gard to  stockings  for  some  old  women  in  almshouses, 
which  was,  however,  at  last  interrupted  by  an  exclama- 
tion from  Miss  Vivian.  "Look!"  she  said.  "Nina,  look! 
Here  comes  Sir  Rawlin  Stantor!" 

Sir  Rawlin's  thoughts  of  Miss  Vivian  had,  during  her 
prolonged  absence,  grown,  for  several  reasons,  insensibly 
less  frequent.  One  of  these  reasons  was  the  awakening 
of  prudence  and  principle  caused  by  his  accidental  es- 
cape from  the  natural  consequences  of  his  folly.  An- 
other was  his  work  at  South  quay,  which  had  grown  more 
and  more  engrossing  as  the  day  of  the  poll  approached. 
Another  was  the  welcome  he  had  met  with  from  his 
party  chiefs  at  Westminster,  and  the  transforming  stimu- 
lus received  by  him  from  a  renewed  contact  with  affairs. 

Now,  however,  when  victory  had  brought  its  hush 
with  it,  and  he  returned,  as  he  had  done  last  night,  to 
the  scenes  of  his  late  folly,  old  interests  showed  signs 
of  reviving,  and  his  thoughts  began  to  flutter,  although 
at  a  cautious  distance,  round  the  heroine  of  the  hockey- 
field,  the  shepherdess  with  the  poppy-colored  cap.  He 
had  not  come  out  either  hoping  or  expecting  to  see  her. 
But  the  moment  he  did  so  he  was  reconciled  to  the 
morning's  accident. 

"Sir  Rawlin,"  said  Mrs.  Summerfield,  "I'm  not  able 
to  distinguish  you;  but  give  me  your  hand,  and  allow  me 
to  congratulate  you  on  your  victory.  Come,  if  you  can, 
and  see  me  one  night  at  dinner.  I  can  offer  you  some 
very  old  port,  and  I'll  ask  that  young  lady  to  meet  you 
who,  they  tell  me,  is  a  great  favorite  of  yours.  And  now 

355 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

I'm  going  to  take  this  dear  Nina  Arundel  with  me  to 
choose  some  stockings  for  me  in  the  town.  Get  in  Nina; 
and  you,  Miss  Nest — are  you  there  still? — I've  no  doubt 
our  new  member  will  be  gallant  enough  to  take  care  of 
you." 

The  eyes  of  the  young  shepherdess,  her  smile,  and  the 
clear  freshness  of  her  complexion  relieved  him  of  his  last 
uneasiness.  There  was  no  reproachful  hint  in  them  of 
any  unpaid  debt. 

"  I  can't  tell  you,"  he  said,  with  a  sense  that  he  might 
be  safely  cordial,  "how  glad  I  am  to  see  you  again,  and 
to  find  that  you're  no  worse  —  indeed,  I  think  you're 
all  the  better — for  your  illness.  Let  me  examine  the 
invalid.  We'd  all  of  us  have  a  rest-cure  could  we  hope 
for  the  same  results.  And  there  are  her  violets,  and 
she's  got  on  the  same  red  cap  that  was  tilted  over  her 
left  eyebrow  when  I  saw  her  first  in  the  mist." 

"I'll  tell  you  what,"  said  the  girl,  "if  you  look  at  me 
with  such  a  critical  eye  these  people  who  are  coming 
along  will  think  my  clothes  don't  fit.  Come  down  into 
the  gardens.  We'll  find  a  bench  with  a  view.  I'm  quite 
well  again,  but  I  haven't  quite  got  my  strength  back." 

A  seat  was  found,  and  Sir  Rawlin,  with  a  renewed  in- 
terest in  her,  and  also  with  a  renewed  caution,  took  his 
place  at  her  side.  Thoughts,  as  he  did  so,  came  back  to 
him  of  the  one  woman  who  had  many  years  ago  fused, 
despite  all  obstacles,  his  spirit  and  his  flesh  together, 
and  associated  all  his  aspirations  with  his  longing  for 
her  lips  and  eyes.  No  such  self-surrender — he  knew  it — 
was  now  possible  for  him.  Between  himself  and  his 
present  companion,  however  close  he  might  be  to  her, 
he  mentally  placed  this  fact  as  though  it  were  a  drawn 
sword. 

They  looked  at  the  sea.  They  spoke  in  appropriate 
terms  of  its  beauty.  The  subject  was  a  safe  one,  but  it 
could  not  last  forever.  Sir  Rawlin  felt  himself  wonder- 
ing what  was  to  take  its  place.  When  the  time  came 
instinct  guided  him. 

356 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

"I  shall  never  forget,"  he  said,  pitching  his  tone  care- 
fully, "how  frightened  I  was  on  your  account  when  the 
lightning  struck  the  balcony.  I  was  quite  prepared  to 
catch  you  up  like  a  child,  and  carry  you  away  from  it 
to  the  other  end  of  the  world." 

Here  was  a  speech  which  met  all  the  demands  of  the 
situation.  It  did  not  repudiate  any  fragments  of  the 
past  that  might  be  remembered  by  her,  but  it  subtly 
withdrew  from  them  all  inconvenient  meaning. 

"  Dr.  Thistlewood  told  me,"  she  said,  "about  the  light- 
ning, and  how  close  we  were  to  it.  To  me  it  is  all  a 
blank.  Anyhow,  it's  a  comfort  to  know  that  I  made  no 
foolish  scene." 

"You  weren't  nearly  so  pale,"  he  said,  "as  you  were 
that  day  on  the  hill,  when  the  thunder  did  nothing  but 
give  the  ghost  of  a  rumble,  and  Miss  Hazel  and  Miss 
Elvira  O' Brian  were  afraid  you  were  going  to  tumble 
down." 

"I  should  have,"  replied  the  girl,  looking  up  at  him 
through  her  long  eyelashes,  "if  you  hadn't  let  me  catch 
hold  of  you.  You  must  have  thought  I  was  very  for- 
ward, but  everything  seemed  convenable  in  such  a  mist. 
Whatever  else  I've  forgotten,  I  haven't  forgotten  about 
that." 

"And  have  you  forgotten,"  said  Sir  Rawlin,  "my  first 
introduction  to  Mr.  Hugo  and  to  James  and  to  Peter's 
altar  and  to  Mrs.  Morriston  Campbell?" 

"Poor  Peter,"  said  Miss  Vivian.  "Mr.  Hugo,  when  I 
was  ill,  gave  him  an  electric  shock,  and  he's  never  been 
the  same  since.  Mr.  Hugo  says  that  if  he'd  only  the 
right  sort  of  battery  he  could,  by  giving  shocks  to  peo- 
ple, change  their  entire  characters.  It's  a  pity  he  doesn't 
change  his  own.  He  still  thinks  a  man  or  a  beetle  is 
going  to  appear  in  his  glue-pot." 

The  conversation,  from  this  point  onward,  found  a 
course  along  which  it  could  flow  and  sparkle,  neither 
stagnating  in  pools  too  deep  and  too  full  of  reflections, 
nor  losing  its  intimate  character  in  the  shallows  of  the 

357 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

merely  commonplace,  and  at  last,  when  Miss  Vivian  de- 
clared that  it  was  time  to  go  and  that  the  shortest  way 
to  Cliff's  End  would  be  down  through  the  gardens  into 
the  valley,  their  exchange  of  trivialities  had  brought 
them  so  close  together  that  the  presence  or  absence  of 
any  closer  bond  was  indistinguishable.  But  when  they 
had  reached  the  lodge  at  the  entrance  of  the  Cliff's  End 
drive  she  turned  and  confronted  him  with  a  smile  in 
which  lurked  a  half-possessive  seriousness. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "are  you  going  to  come  in  and  lunch 
with  us?" 

Sir  Rawlin's  prudence  was  instantly  up  in  arms.  "  I 
can't,"  he  said,  "much  as  I  should  like  to.  But,  my 
dear,  I  was  forgetting.  I  am  going  to  meet  you  to- 
night at  the  dinner  which  Lord  Cotswold  is  giving  in 
special  honor  of  your  convalescence.  Good-bye  till  then 
— good-bye.  I'm  delighted  to  see  you  so  well  again. 
What  are  you  going  to  wear  to-night?  No,  don't  tell 
me.  You  shall  surprise  me  at  eight  o'clock." 

As  Miss  Vivian  ascended  the  drive  her  thoughts  of 
the  late  conversation  were  busy  with  what  she  had  failed 
to  find  in  it  rather  than  what  she  had  found.  Those 
gray  eyes  of  her  friend,  however  they  might  seek  her 
own  eyes,  were  grave  with  an  inward  vision  of  which  she 
formed  no  part. 


CHAPTER   II 

BY  the  time  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  start  for 
the  Turkish  Castle,  Mr.  Barton  had  pulled  himself 
together,  and  when  he  entered  Lord  Cotswold's  drawing- 
room  he  was  rigid  with  self-possession.  A  new  anxiety, 
of  a  comparatively  trivial  kind,  had  indeed  helped 
to  sober  him,  as  such  anxieties  often  do.  What,  he 
had  begun  to  ask  himself,  would  Miss  Vivian  think 
of  him  in  view  of  his  own  behavior  on  the  occasion  of 
their  last  meeting  ?  Would  it,  in  vulgar  language,  have 
struck  her  that  he  had  made  a  fool  of  himself?  She 
should,  at  all  events,  have  no  reason  for  forming  such  an 
opinion  now. 

So  far  as  this  matter  went  he  was  presently  set  at 
ease.  As  soon  as  he  had  been  welcomed  by  his  host, 
Miss  Vivian  and  Lady  Susannah  both  came  up  to  him 
with  smiles  of  such  cheerful  frankness  as  to  show  him 
that  in  their  eyes  he  had  done  nothing  unusual.  How 
was  he  ?  they  asked,  in  tones  that  all  the  room  might  hear. 
Much  better,  they  hoped ;  and,  full  of  elegant  sympathy, 
Mr.  Carlton  approached  and  added  his  hopes  to  theirs. 
Mr.  Barton  heard  himself  declaring  that  his  malady  had 
been  a  passing  trifle;  and  Miss  Vivian  confided  to  him, 
by  a  private  little  glance  of  her  own,  her  pleasure  in 
finding  that  a  pain,  which  she  knew  to  have  been  acute, 
was  over. 

The  irony  of  the  girl's  unconsciousness  of  her  own 
share  in  his  trouble  was  inflicting  on  him  a  new  pang, 
when,  before  he  had  time  to  dwell  on  it,  the  accents  of 
his  host  distracted  him. 

"I  haven't  seen  you,  Mr.  Barton,"  Lord  Cotswold  was 
359 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

saying,  "since  the  night  of  my  evening  party,  though 
I've  heard  of  you  from  Dr.  Gustav;  and  I  have  always 
been  wanting  to  express  to  you  the  interest  I  felt  in 
your  very  remarkable  sermon  and  in  the  hymn  which 
followed  it — I  presume  by  the  same  author.  It  seemed 
to  me  that  you  gave  us  the  whole  Christian  philosophy." 
And,  drawing  Mr.  Barton  aside,  he  repeated,  in  a  low, 
rich  tone: 

" '  Lord,  when  place  and  space 
Are  not,  and  the  skies 
Hold  no  worlds,  and  eyes 
Cease  to  obscure  Thy  face — ' 

I  remember  it  all,"  he  went  on;  but  the  butler's  voice 
announcing  dinner  interrupted  him. 

At  dinner  the  conversation  was  of  an  ordinary  and 
cheerful  kind.  Lord  Cotswold  and  Lady  Susannah  de- 
veloped an  unexpected  friendliness  by  getting  on  the 
topic  of  some  mutual  though  not  very  near  relatives, 
and  Mr.  Carlton  annotated  this  pleasant  discourse  by 
sundry  anecdotes  illustrative  of  the  private  absurdities 
of  the  great.  Mr.  Barton,  his  silence  observed  by  Dr. 
Thistlewood  only,  sat  in  a  kind  of  dream;  but  his  eyes, 
within  certain  limits,  were  closely  though  cautiously 
vigilant.  Their  scrutiny  was  confined  to  Miss  Vivian 
and  those  to  whom  she  spoke  or  who  spoke  to  her. 
The  girl,  though  not  noticeably  wanting  in  any  of  her 
accustomed  vivacity,  had,  so  it  seemed  to  him,  developed 
some  new  composure,  as  though  all  the  world  were  fa- 
miliar to  her  and  she  were  meeting  it  on  equal  terms. 
He  was  specially  struck  by  the  aplomb  with  which  she 
suppressed  a  sally  of  Mr.  Hugo's.  Mr.  Hugo,  who,  feel- 
ing himself  under  Dr.  Thistlewood's  scientific  protec- 
tion, judged  that  the  occasion  was  favorable  to  some 
oblique  annoyance  of  Mr.  Barton,  contrived  to  publish 
the  intelligence,  in  a  voice  sufficiently  audible,  that  he 
had  just  finished  making  a  kaleidoscope  designed  to 
show  by  analogy  how  the  brain  could  be  shaken  up  into 

360 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

different  patterns  of  character.  To  Mr.  Barton,  in  his 
present  mood,  such  nonsense  was  itself  indifferent;  but 
he  felt  to  the  bottom  of  his  heart  the  implication  of 
the  girl's  tone  when  he  realized  that  she  was  appealing 
to  himself,  and  saying:  "You  must  shut  this  boy,  with 
his  horrid,  dirty  hands,  up.  But  no — I  won't  trouble 
you.  I  can  see  you  have  your  headache  still." 

The  unconscious  irony  of  her  friendliness  wounded 
him  once  again.  The  lips  which  had  just  smiled  at  him 
had  once  pressed  themselves  to  his  own.  He  made  no 
answer.  He  could  hardly  smile  in  return.  He  could  not 
even  continue  to  observe  her  until  she  had  turned  away. 

When  he  looked  again  she  was  in  communication  with 
Sir  Rawlin  Stantor.  They  were  leaning  a  little  toward 
each  other,  across  the  segment  of  the  round  table  that 
divided  them.  Sir  Rawlin's  face  and  manner  were  in- 
stinct with  a  deferent  friendliness,  but  he  seemed  to  be 
sending  his  words  to  her  from  the  other  side  of  some 
stream  which  he  would  not  or  could  not  cross.  Mr. 
Barton  watched  the  incident.  It  was  over  in  half  a 
minute.  Others  of  a  similar  kind  occurred  from  time 
to  time,  and  after  each  the  girl  was  subdued  and  silent. 
At  length  a  change  came  over  her.  The  glances  cast  by 
her  in  Sir  Rawlin's  direction  ceased.  She  talked  with 
a  feverish  eagerness  to  Mr.  Carlton,  who  sat  beside  her, 
and  presently  began  to  exhibit  to  him  the  beauties  of 
her  painted  fan.  Then  came  the  voice  of  Sir  Rawlin, 
still  remote  though  friendly,  begging  that  he,  too,  might 
be  allowed  the  privilege  of  inspecting  it.  Miss  Vivian, 
hardly  looking  at  him,  passed  it  over  with  an  extended 
hand  and  arm.  The  arm  was  gloved  to  the  elbow.  The 
white  gleam  of  the  kid  arrested  Mr.  Barton's  eye.  The 
glove  on  that  arm,  it  occurred  to  him,  had  not  been 
taken  off  at  all.  He  thought  of  the  scar  hidden  by  it, 
and  he  pushed  his  plate  away  from  him.  Miss  Vivian, 
meanwhile,  had  resumed  her  conversation  with  Mr. 
Carlton,  and  was  drawing  the  other  glove  on  with  un- 
necessary and  ostentatious  care. 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

"By-the-way,  my  young  friend,"  said  Lord  Cotswold 
to  Mr.  Hugo,  when  the  ladies  had  left  the  room,  a  prom- 
ise having  been  given  to  them  that  they  would  not  be 
long  left  alone,  "what  was  that  I  heard  you  saying  about 
a  kaleidoscope?  Mr.  Barton,  come  here  and  sit  by  me. 
These  sprigs  of  the  rising  generation  are  determined  to 
go  beyond  both  of  us." 

"I  should  rather,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  with  an  acerbity 
which  he  could  not  control,  "say  that  the  thought  of 
to-day  was  going  back  to  the  earliest  beginnings  of 
thought,  and  that  persons  like  our  young  friend  there 
were  its  very  appropriate  mouth-pieces.  I  dare  say  our 
young  friend  has  never  read  Lucretius,  or  even  heard 
what  Lucretius  said  about  the  human  mind — 

" '  Principio  esse  aio  persubtilem  atque  minutis 
Corporibus  factum  constate.' 

That  means,  Mr.  Hugo  Arundel,  that,  according  to  the 
modern  science  of  ancient  Rome,  the  soul  is  a  heap  of 
independent  little  bits  of  dust,  some  of  them  shaped  like 
hooks,  some  of  them  shaped  like  eyes,  which  collide  by 
accident  and  form  into  a  kind  of  cluster,  and  that,  as 
soon  as  this  dust-heap  is  formed,  it  begins  to  talk  and 
think,  just  as  if  the  dust  in  a  dust-cart  were  to  begin  to 
drive  the  horse.  That's  what  Lucretius  said  two  thou- 
sand years  before  modern  science  was  thought  of,  and 
modern  science  is  saying  no  more  than  he  did." 

Mr.  Hugo's  youth,  thus  attacked  by  mature  scholar- 
ship, enlisted  general  sympathy  in  his  favor,  and  Lord 
Cotswold  was  considering  how  best  to  come  to  his  rescue, 
when  Mr.  Hugo,  recovering  from  a  moment's  bashful- 
ness,  fought  his  own  battle  with  a  weapon  for  which  Mr. 
Barton  was  not  prepared. 

"If  Lucretius,"  he  replied,  with  a  smile  of  elaborate 
calmness,  "really  said  all  that  in  seven  or  eight  words, 
he  certainly  did  what  nobody  could  do  to-day." 

Not  all  the  consideration  and  courtesy  due  to  Mr.  Bar- 
ton and  his  position  could  prevent  the  explosion  of  a 

362 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

certain  amount  of  laughter,  Oswald's  eyes  being  filled 
with  generous  tears  of  appreciation. 

"Come,"  said  Lord  Cotswold,  his  own  eyes  still  smil- 
ing, as  he  laid  a  confidential  hand  on  Mr.  Barton's  ad- 
jacent shoulder,  "you  won't  be  in  a  hurry  to  leave  us. 
We'll  have  our  talk  by-and-by,  when  our  ladies  and  these 
young  men  have  gone.  And  now  I  suggest  that  we  have 
our  coffee  in  the  drawing-room.  Mr.  Barton,  we  smoke 
everywhere." 

Mr.  Barton  was  no  sooner  in  the  drawing-room  than 
he  found  himself  being  asked  to  play.  The  request  was 
twice  repeated  before  he  seemed  to  take  in  its  nature. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said.  "  I  would  have  played 
with  the  greatest  pleasure.  I'm  afraid,  however,  I  must 
confess  to  a  slight  nervous  headache." 

"Then  don't  try,"  said  Lord  Cotswold.  "The  young 
people  shall  amuse  themselves.  Let  them  play  some 
game.  Can  you  think  of  a  game,  any  of  you?" 

Mr.  Carlton,  who,  when  youth  was  present,  always 
felt  himself  younger  than  anybody,  immediately  began 
to  propose  one  well-known  game  after  another,  and,  as 
though  to  avenge  Mr.  Barton  for  the  affront  that  had 
lately  been  put  upon  him,  proceeded  to  make  a  butt  of 
the  unfortunate  Mr.  Hugo.  "Let  Hugo,"  he  said,  "go 
out  of  the  room,  and  then  come  back  and  impersonate 
some  celebrated  woman  of  history — Semiramis,  or  any- 
body he  likes — and  we,  from  his  acting,  have  to  find  out 
who  she  is." 

"Yes,"  exclaimed  Miss  Vivian,  who  appeared  to  have 
recovered  her  spirits,  "let  Mr.  Hugo  act  Semiramis.  If 
we  can't  recognize  her,  you,  Mr.  Hugo,  win.  At  this 
game  you'll  win  to  a  certainty,  so  you  needn't  be  afraid 
to  try." 

Mr.  Hugo  remained  mute,  a  monument  of  annoyed 
obstructiveness,  and  Mr.  Carlton,  having  indulged  in  a 
variety  of  other  suggestions,  at  last  hit  on  bouts  rimes — 
a  pastime  which,  when  he  had  explained  its  nature,  was 
received  with  sufficient  approbation.  "Somebody,"  he 

"4  363 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

said,  "gives  two  words  or  more — for  the  likes  of  us,  two 
will  be  quite  enough.  Each  word  must  be  the  end  of  a 
line  of  poetry,  and  two  other  lines  must  be  added  which 
will  make  sense  and  will  rhyme  to  them.  Shall  I  give 
you  an  example?  You  must  all  have  pieces  of  paper. 
Ah,  Dr.  Thistlewood,  how  good  of  you!  And  I  see 
you've  got  pencils,  too.  Well,  here  are  two  words — 
lace  and  dressed.  See  what  you  can  make  of  those. 
Now,  you've  only  got  five  minutes." 

A  silence  followed,  broken  by  the  sound  of  pencils; 
but  nobody,  when  the  time  was  up,  had  produced  a  pre- 
sentable poem  with  the  exception  of  Mr.  Carlton  him- 
self. Mr.  Carlton 's  poem  was  this,  which  he  recited  with 
a  glance  at  Miss  Vivian : 

"  Who  has  the  best  lace  f 
The  best-dressed  girl  with  the  prettiest  face. 
Who  is  the  prettiest  and  best  dressed  f 
A  young  lady,  in  crepe  de  chine,  called  Nest." 

"Capital!"  said  a  chorus  of  voices. 

"A  poor  thing,  but  mine  own,"  said  Mr.  Carlton, 
modestly.  "Now,  two  more  words.  Who'll  give  the 
words  this  time?" 

Various  words  were  now  set  in  succession,  but  the 
poems  into  which  they  were  woven  were  not  very  re- 
markable. 

"What's  Hugo  about  all  this  time?"  exclaimed  Miss 
Vivian,  rising.  "He  hasn't  given  us  a  verse.  Let  me 
see,  Hugo,  what  you've  been  up  to." 

The  very  mention  of  Mr.  Hugo's  name  had  the  pleas- 
ant effect  of  producing  a  general  smile.  Even  Mr.  Bar- 
ton slightly  curled  his  lips  and  observed:  "It's  a  pity 
that  so  much  talent  should  be  wasted." 

"Look  here,"  said  Miss  Vivian,  "Hugo  hasn't  written 
a  word.  Here's  merely  a  paper  scribbled  over  with 
lines." 

"I  was  merely  trying,"  said  Mr.  Hugo,  with  noncha- 
lance, "to  work  out  a  little  problem  in  Euclid.  Do 

364 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

you  want  two  words?  I  dare  say  I  can  give  them  to 
you." 

"Yes,"  said  Miss  Arundel,  "let  Hugo  give  the  words 
if  he  can't  manage  the  verses." 

"Perhaps,"  replied  Mr.  Hugo,  loftily,  "I  might  be 
able  to  do  both  if  they  were  about  anything  sensible. 
Here's  a  word,  then — square.  Oh,  you  want  another? 
Is  that  it?  Well,  then—angles." 

"That's  difficult,"  said  Lord  Cotswold.  "What  can 
anybody  make  of  that?" 

"Nest,"  said  Mr.  Carlton,  "I've  thought  of  some- 
thing. Come  over  and  sit  by  me,  and  we'll  do  it  to- 
gether." 

Mr.  Barton  watched  her  movements.  Her  demeanor, 
inexplicably  changed,  had  now  begun  to  sting  him.  She 
sank  with  her  fan  and  laces  close  to  Mr.  Carlton's  side; 
her  face,  alive  with  smiles,  seemed  almost  to  be  resting 
on  his  shoulder,  and  bursts  of  laughter  escaped  from 
her  as  the  work  of  composition  proceeded. 

"Now,  Cousin  George,  time's  up,"  said  Oswald. 

"We've  nearly  finished,"  said  Mr.  Carlton.  "You 
read  yours  out  first." 

"Very  well,"  replied  the  diplomat.  "Mine  has  the 
merit  of  brevity '  '- 

"  If  a  poet  would  square 

His  loves  with  his  morals, 
Let  the  poet  beware, 

Or  good-bye  to  his  laurels." 

"My  dear  fellow,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Calton,  "you've  not 
rhymed  to  angles  at  all!  Now,  listen,"  he  continued,  as 
Oswald  was  obliged  to  confess  his  error.  "Nest  and  I 
can  do  better  than  that,  though  we're  neither  of  us  pro- 
fessed poets: 

"  A  young  lady  whose  dress  was  cut  square, 

Wore  a  lovely  assortment  of  bangles; 
She'd  a  little  aigrette  in  her  hair, 

And  her  bodice  and  sleeves  were  all  spangles. 

365 


But  the  sleeves  of  the  gown 

Got  detached  and  fell  down, 
And  showed  that  her  elbows  were  angles. 

Whereupon  she  exclaimed, 

'Let  the  laundress  be  blamed, 
All  the  buttons  are  broke  by  the  mangles."' 

A  burst  of  applause  followed.  The  proceedings  were 
at  last  growing  animated.  Lord  Cotswold  clapped  his 
hands. 

"I  ought  to  tell  you,"  said  Mr.  Carlton,  "that  the  bit 
about  the  elbows  was  Nest's.  I  think  that,  at  any  rate, 
between  us  we've  exhausted  the  rhymes  to  angles." 

"  Not  quite,"  said  Mr.  Hugo,  solemnly  looking  up  from 
his  paper.  "My  poem  is  this: 

"Let  nobody  with  my  conclusion  wrangle. 
Suppose  a  figure  has  four  equal  sides 
And  one  rectangle.     Every  angle,  if  tried, 
Will  be  found  equal  to  every  other  angle." 

Mr.  Hugo's  effort,  especially  the  scansion  of  his  last 
line,  filled  the  room  with  merriment.  It  was  further- 
more pointed  out  to  him  that  he  was  just  as  bad  as 
Oswald.  Oswald  had  left  out  angle,  Mr.  Hugo  had  left 
out  square. 

"Come,"  said  Mr.  Carlton,  "think  of  another  word. 
We  may  as  well  stick  to  square,  but  we  don't  want  any 
more  angles." 

Mr.  Hugo  responded  by  emitting  the  monosyllable 
side. 

"Very  well  then,  side,"  said  Mr.  Carlton.  "Now  — 
side,  square.  You  must  all  of  you  bring  in  both." 

Lady  Susannah  cast  a  glance  at  the  clock.  "This," 
she  said,  "must  really  be  the  last.  Nest  oughtn't  to  be 
kept  up  much  longer.  Poor  child,"  she  whispered  to  Mr. 
Barton,  "for  all  her  smiles  and  laughing,  she  looks  tired 
out  of  her  very  life." 

Mr.  Barton  watched,  but  he  could  not  trust  himself  to 
speak. 

366 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

"What,  Rawlin!"  said  Lord  Cots  wold,  "are  you  enter- 
ing the  lists ,  too  ?  Let  me  see  what  it  is  you've  written. ' ' 

He  read,  nodded,  and,  despite  a  gesture  on  Sir  Raw- 
lin's  part,  passed  the  paper  to  Dr.  Thistlewood.  With 
the  exception  of  Mr.  Carlton,  nobody  else  appeared  to 
have  made  much  progress.  Oswald  declared  that  his 
inspiration  had  failed  him.  Mr.  Hugo  could  get  no 
further  than  the  somewhat  irregular  couplet — 

"  If  a  person  should  take  the  square 
Of  the  hypothenuse,  or  a  triangle's  third  side — " 

"Well,  then,"  said  Mr.  Carlton,  "you'll  have  to  fall 
back  on  mine.  It's  called  'When  the  Cat's  Away,'  by 
a  Heroine  Below-stairs: 

"  When  I  ride  from  Belgrave  Square 
In  my  lady's  coach  and  pair, 
With  the  butler  at  my  side, 
Don't  my  sunshade  blush  with  pride!" 

While  the  applause,  somewhat  perfunctory,  elicited 
by  this  was  subsiding,  Mr.  Barton  heard  his  name  being 
uttered  by  Miss  Vivian.  "Get  Dr.  Thistlewood,"  she 
was  saying  to  him,  "to  read  out  Sir  Rawlin's." 

Before  the  author  could  enter  any  effectual  protest, 
Dr.  Thistlewood  had  complied.  "Here's  something," 
he  said,  "in  another  style."  And  his  voice,  as  he  read, 
had  a  musical  and  grave  note  in  it  which  slightly  an- 
noyed the  author  and  surprised  the  rest  of  the  au- 
dience : 

"  Where  the  city  lies  foursquare, 

Where  the  Spirit  and  the  Bride 

Call  us  to  the  taintless  tide — 
Oh,  my  fairest  of  the  fair, 

We  have  drunk  our  cups  beside 
Other  streams  than  these,  and  we  shall  not  be  there." 

It  seemed  to  Mr.  Barton,  as  he  listened,  that  a  sudden 
revelation  had  been  made  to  him  of  another  man's  in- 

367 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

ner  history — the  history  of  a  heart  long  dead.  These 
lines,  ostensibly  a  trifle,  though  too  serious  for  the  occa- 
sion, had,  he  felt,  been  written  in  blood.  Meanwhile  he 
was  watching  Miss  Vivian,  and  he  knew  that  she  felt 
this,  too.  Her  eyes,  too,  had  been  opened.  They  were 
fixed  on  Sir  Rawlin,  who  himself  had  become  engaged 
with  a  newspaper,  and  for  a  second  a  tear  shone  in  them. 
They  were  eyes,  thought  Mr.  Barton,  surprised  by  his 
own  insight,  which  were  "wild  with  all  farewells." 


CHAPTER  III 

MR.  BARTON,"  said  Lord  Cotswold,  when  the 
guests  from  Cliff's  End  had  gone,  "the  night  is 
still  young.  We  might  now  resume  what  we  were  saying 
about  our  friend  Lucretius.  If  your  headache  has  not 
disappeared,  you've  a  first-rate  doctor  at  your  elbow, 
who,  I  hope,  will  prescribe  philosophic  discourse  as  a 
remedy." 

"Allow  me  to  examine  him,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood, 
genially.  "Let  me  have  five  minutes  with  him  alone. 
It's  a  mild  moonlight  night.  Let  us,  Mr.  Barton,  go 
out  on  the  terrace.  We  can  get  our  hats  and  coats  in 
the  hall.  A  breath  of  fresh  air  will  be  good  for  you." 

Mr.  Barton  bowed  and  obeyed.  They  gained  the 
gravel  walk  which  ran  between  the  castle  and  the  sea. 
The  wind  blew  faintly  from  the  waves  over  the  battle- 
ments and  the  clumps  of  rosemary.  Mr.  Barton  lifted 
his  hat  so  as  to  catch  the  coolness  on  his  forehead. 

"Well,"  began  Dr.  Thistlewood,  lighting  a  long  cigar, 
"what  I  want  to  ask  you  is  this:  After  what  you  have 
seen  to-night,  do  you  or  do  you  not  wish  me  to  go  on 
with  my  explanations  ?  Before  you  answer  me,  I  must 
beg  you  to  remember  one  thing.  There  is  only  one 
ground  on  which  I  recognize  your  right  to  question  me 
as  to  the  present  matter  at  all.  I  refer  to  the  fact  that 
you  regard  yourself  as  Miss  Vivian's  possible  husband. 
She  gave  you,  I  admit,  an  excuse  for  so  regarding  your- 
self. Since  then  she  has  shown  you  that  this  excuse  was 
illusory.  She  has,  as  I  shrewdly  suspect,  shown  you 
something  more  to-night.  Such  being  the  case,  then,  is 
it  still  your  intention  to  secure,  if  you  can,  that  affection 

369 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

which  she  has  not  yet  bestowed  on  you,  and  which  she 
has  bestowed — to  speak  plainly — on  a  certain  other  per- 
son?" 

"My  intentions,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  "are  precisely  the 
same  as  they  ever  were.  I  won't  pretend  to  misunder- 
stand you.  Those  lines  of  Sir  Rawlin  Stantor's,  though 
he  no  doubt  scribbled  them  off  in  a  mood  of  cynical  idle- 
ness— well,  they  lit  up  for  me,  like  a  match  struck  in  the 
darkness,  an  impression  which  I  had  formed  already, 
though  I  did  not  consciously  understand  it.  He  is  a 
man  whose  heart  is  buried  in  the  past,  or  worn  out  by 
the  past — whether  sinfully  or  otherwise  it  is  not  for  me 
to  say.  If  any  woman  were  to  love  him,  she  might  as 
well  love  a  figure  in  a  dream.  Do  you  expect  me,  Dr. 
Thistlewood,  to  accept  that  as  a  reason  for  concluding 
that  no  other  man  will  ever  give  her  reality?" 

"On  the  contrary,"  replied  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "though 
I  can  do  no  more  than  conjecture,  my  opinion  is  that, 
if  you  tried  long  enough,  you  might  succeed." 

"Oh,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  "so  you  are  of  that  opinion, 
too!  Well,"  he  went  on,  impatiently,  "what  more  do 
you  want  ?  This  morning  you  seemed  to  be  bent  on  ex- 
plaining difficulties  away.  Why  do  you  now  insist  on 
them?  One  would  think  that  you  had  some  interest  in 
parting  us." 

"Yes,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  dryly.  "Since  you  put 
the  matter  bluntly,  I  have." 

Mr.  Barton  started.  "I  was  right,  then!"  he  ex- 
claimed. "I  was  right  from  the  very  first!  And  may 
I  ask  your  reasons  ?  Were  you  or  her  parents  afraid  of 
her  falling  under  a  priest's  influence?  That's  why  she 
was  snatched  away  from  me.  Or  you  and  her  friends, 
perhaps,  have  some  other  and  more  ambitious  union  in 
view  for  her;  or  you  think  she  would  be  a  brilliant 
ornament  to  the  house  of  some  rich  nephew  of  your 
own?" 

"If,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "I  had  a  son  or  a  nephew 
of  my  own,  there  is  no  woman  in  the  world,  no  matter 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

how  depraved,  to  whom  I  would  not  sooner  see  him 
married  than  I  would  to  Miss  Nest  Vivian." 

Mr.  Barton  stopped  short  in  his  walk  and  turned  on 
Dr.  Thistlewood,  speechless.  At  last  he  managed  to 
articulate:  "You  must  account  to  me,  sir,  for  those 
monstrous  words." 

Dr.  Thistlewood  met  the  priest's  angry  and  astonished 
eyes  with  a  something  like  pity  in  his  own.  "My  dear, 
good  friend,"  he  said,  "I  believe  I  shall  have  to  do  so. 
As  a  man,  I  would  rather  not.  As  a  man  of  science, 
nothing  would  interest  me  more  than  to  see  how  you 
take  my  news.  To-morrow,  if  you  insist  on  it,  this  ex- 
periment shall  be  made." 

"No,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  "not  to-morrow,  but  in- 
stantly. You  have  dared  to  slander — to  slander  with 
the  vilest  insinuations —  Dr.  Thistlewood,  I  do  not  leave 
this  spot  till  I  have  made  you  explain  everything." 

"Your  tone  at  this  moment,"  Dr.  Thistlewood  an- 
swered, quietly,  "shows  me  how  difficult  the  task  of 
explanation  will  be.  Be  patient,  and  do  not  waste  your 
anger.  But  stay.  Now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  I  can  give 
you  even  to-night — not,  indeed,  the  explanation  you  ask 
for,  but  something  that  may  serve  as  a  preface  to  it. 
What  I  have  to  tell  you  about  Miss  Vivian  is  something 
she  does  not  know  herself."  Mr.  Barton  drew  a  deep 
breath  of  relief.  "Come,"  Dr.  Thistlewood  continued, 
"let  us  go  back  to  Lord  Cotswold.  I  must,  for  ten  min- 
utes or  so,  attend  to  one  of  the  servants  here — a  woman 
called  Sarah  Davies,  whom  I  sometimes  send  to  sleep  by 
hypnosis.  You  and  our  host,  meanwhile,  can  beguile  the 
time  with  Lucretius.  You  are  not  in  a  mood  for  phi- 
losophy, but  still,  if  I  know  Lord  Cotswold,  what  he 
says  to-night  may  have  a  bearing  on  what  I  shall  have 
to  say  to-morrow." 

The  spectacle  of  Sir  Rawlin  still  absorbed  in  a  news- 
paper, which  he  civilly  put  down  when  the  two  ab- 
sentees re-entered,  helped  to  restore  Mr.  Barton  to  a 
semblance  of  normal  calm,  and  when  Lord  Cotswold, 

37i 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

with  evident  pleasure  in  his  eyes,  proposed  to  renew 
the  discussion  which  Mr.  Hugo  had  prematurely  closed, 
Mr.  Barton  felt  it  would  be  a  relief  to  listen  if  not  to 
argue. 

"  You  were  quite  right,"  said  Lord  Cotswold — "though 
the  boy  could,  of  course,  not  know  it — in  what  you  said  of 
the  Lucretian  view  of  matter,  and  the  poet's  leap  from 
matter,  as  understood  by  himself,  to  life.  But,  if  I  may 
venture  to  say  so,  you  are  quite  wrong  as  to  this — the 
conception  of  matter  which  is  forced  on  us  by  the  dis- 
coveries of  modern  science  when  these  discoveries  are 
rationalized  by  the  logic  of  modern  philosophy.  With 
respect  to  the  conception  of  what  matter  is,  and  what  we 
know  about  it,  the  scholastics  are  Lucretians,  only  they 
jump  from  matter  to  movement,  and  the  movements  of 
life  especially,  and  they  have,  too,  the  advantage  of  Lu- 
cretius, by  the  aid  of  a  perpetual  miracle.  You  have 
studied  Thomas  Aquinas,  but  have  you  ever  studied 
Kant?  If  you  had,  you  would  realize  that  matter,  for 
the  modern  thinker,  is  not,  as  it  seems  to  you,  a  collec- 
tion of  boy's  marbles,  which  only  move  when  a  mind 
apart  from  themselves  plays  with  them.  They  are  sym- 
bols of  the  mind  universal.  They  are  the  gleaming  on 
the  fringes  of  its  garment.  Between  matter  and  mind — 
Mr.  Barton,  I  am  not  dictating  to  you;  I  am  merely 
trying  to  express  to  you  the  ideas  of  the  modern  thinker 
— between  matter  and  mind  the  antique  opposition  dis- 
appears. In  the  thought  of  Kant  they  become  one  for 
the  thinker.  They  become  one  for  the  physicist  in  your 
brain  and  in  mine.  Thinkers  of  your  school,  Mr.  Bar- 
ton, think  and  speak  of  the  brain  merely  as  it  appears 
to  their  eyes — generally  to  their  eyes  unassisted  by  so 
much  as  a  microscope.  Could  they  only  see  it  as  it  is, 
by  some  gift  of  the  double  vision,  that  gray  pulp,  which 
disgusts  them  when  it  oozes  from  a  broken  skull,  would 
be  a  flame  that  burned  and  quivered  with  all  the  colors 
of  the  rainbow,  with  the  emerald  of  all  leaves  growing, 
with  the  jasper  of  the  celestial  city,  with  the  blue  of  the 

372 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

sapphire  pavement  that  was  under  the  throne  of  God. 
Forgive  me  for  my  seeming  dogmatism.  I  am  merely 
throwing  down  the  glove  to  you.  Some  other  day  or 
night,  I  hope,  it  may  interest  you  to  take  up  the  chal- 
lenge." 

Dr.  Thistlewood,  who  had  been  out  of  the  room  dur- 
ing most  of  Lord  Cotswold's  allocution,  had  returned  in 
time  for  the  end  of  it,  and  was  now  in  the  doorway  lis- 
tening. "I  want,"  he  said,  "to  show  Mr.  Barton  some- 
thing which,  when  that  day  or  night  comes,  he  may  pos- 
sibly find  of  use  to  him.  Will  you,  Mr.  Barton,  come 
with  me  into  the  big  room  which  you  once  honored  with 
your  presence  when  some  moving  photographs  were  ex- 
hibited there.  I  am  going,"  he  continued,  as  Mr.  Bar- 
ton followed  him,  "to  show  you  something  which  bears 
on  your  conception  of  the  brain  and  the  transcendental. 
The  indivisible  self  uses  the  divisible  organism  as  its 
tool — such  is  your  own  argument;  but  the  tool,  though 
it  may  sometimes  fail  to  obey  the  master's  orders,  is 
incompetent,  being  itself  lifeless,  to  dictate  orders  to 
the  master.  I  am  not  going  to  weary  you  to-night  with 
any  philosophy  of  my  own.  I  am  only  going  to  show 
you  a  simple  though  not  a  very  common  experiment. 
In  there,  in  the  big  room — let  me  tell  you  this  before 
I  open  the  door — we  shall  find  the  woman  who  has  asked 
me  to  secure  her  a  good  night's  rest.  I  have  often  done 
this  by  hypnotism,  a  process  to  which  she  is  very  sus- 
ceptible. Hypnotized  subjects  pass  through  different 
phases,  of  which  the  first  two  are  called  technically  the 
lethargic  and  the  cataleptic.  We  shall  find  Sarah  Davies 
in  the  second.  You  watch  what  happens.  That  will 
teach  you  more  than  any  learned  words  of  mine." 

Dr.  Thistlewood  opened  the  door,  and  at  the  end  of 
the  room  within,  which  was  now  brilliantly  lighted, 
Sarah  Davis,  with  Dr.  Thistlewood's  servant  near  her, 
was  seated  like  a  thing  of  wax.  Dr.  Thistlewood,  as 
he  and  Mr.  Barton  approached  her,  took  from  a  shelf 
a  small  box  containing  crochet-work.  This  box  he 

373 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

placed  in  the  woman's  hands.  "Sarah/'  he  said,  "I 
should  like  to  watch  your  stitches."  The  woman  made 
no  answer,  but  at  once  began  to  ply  her  needles,  in  the 
use  of  which  she  exhibited  great  dexterity.  Dr.  Thistle- 
wood  allowed  her  to  proceed  for  a  little  while  uninter- 
rupted. Then  turning  to  Mr.  Barton,  as  though  to 
secure  his  attention,  he  said:  "Now,  watch  what  hap- 
pens." 

Laying  a  finger  on  the  woman's  left  eyelid,  he  drew 
it  downward  over  the  eye,  in  which  position  it  remained. 
The  moment  this  was  done  her  right  hand  fell  on  her 
lap,  as  though  it  were  a  lifeless  model,  carrying  the 
crochet  with  it,  but  the  left  hand,  though  now  not  ac- 
complishing anything,  still  continued  in  the  air  the 
pantomime  of  its  previous  work. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  with  a  sigh  of  impatient 
weariness,  "and  what  does  that  prove?" 

"We  all,"  replied  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "know  that  we 
have  two  eyes.  It  is  well,  though  not  so  generally 
known,  that  we  have  two  brains  also.  The  left  brain 
works  the  right  hand,  the  right  brain  works  the  left. 
There  is  the  same  crosswise  connection  between  the 
brain  and  the  two  eyes.  If  the  right  eyelid  is  closed 
the  left  brain  becomes  lethargic,  and  the  whole  right 
side  is  paralyzed.  If  we  lower  the  left  eyelid  it's  the 
other  way  about." 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  doggedly,  "that  fact,  if 
genuine,  is  curious.  But  what  then  ?  If  you  shoot  one 
horse  of  a  pair  the  coachman  must  get  on  with  the 
other.  But  the  coachman  himself  is  unaltered.  You 
can  easily  apply  my  parable  to  your  two  brains,  or  your 
twenty  brains,  if  you  like  it  better,  and  the  self." 

"I  told  you,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "that  I  wasn't 
going  to  argue  to-night.  I'm  just  going  to  show  you 
one  experiment  more.  Francesco  —  yes,  yes,  now  she 
will  do  nicely — come  a  little  closer  to  her  and  speak 
into  that  ear.  Tell  her  her  brother's  drowned.  Mr. 
Barton,  watch  her  face." 

374 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

"Sarah,"  said  Francesco,  into  her  left  ear,  "your 
brother  was  drowned  last  evening." 

"Sarah,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  into  her  right  ear, 
"your  brother  has  arrived  at  Plymouth." 

The  result  was  singular.  One  half  of  the  woman's 
face  was  distorted  with  sudden  anguish,  the  other  half 
smiled  with  joy,  and  the  eye  lit  up  and  sparkled.  It 
seemed  as  though  two  half  faces,  belonging  to  two  dif- 
ferent people,  had  been  stuck  together  with  glue  in 
order  to  produce  one. 

"Thank you, Francesco, "said Dr. Thistlewood;  "that's 
all  for  the  present.  Now  we'll  send  her  to  bed  and 
order  her  a  good  night's  rest.  Mr.  Barton,"  he  contin- 
ued, when  the  woman  had  left  the  room,  "once  more 
let  me  tell  you  that  I'm  not  going  to  moralize  now.  I 
will  only  say  one  word  of  comment  on  what  you  have 
just  witnessed.  An  operator,  by  performing  the  purely 
physical  act  of  raising  or  lowering  the  eyelids  of  another 
human  being,  is  able,  through  the  connection  of  the 
eyelids  with  various  parts  of  the  organism,  to  divide 
that  being's  individual  self  into  two.  You  admit  that 
such  facts  are  curious.  'Curious'  was  your  own  word. 
You  mean  by  that  that  you  had  never  thought  about 
them  or  even  known  of  their  existence  before.  Well, 
all  I  ask  of  you  is  that  you  think  them  over  between  now 
and  to-morrow  morning,  and  then,  since  you  are  de- 
termined to  extract  it  from  me,  I  will  go  to  the  very 
root  of  my  meaning  in  what  I  said  about  Miss  Vivian's 
character.  I  must  ask  you  to  come  here.  I  shall  have 
to  use  certain  appliances  which,  unluckily,  are  not  port- 
able." 


CHAPTER   IV 

MR.  BARTON'S  belated  discovery  of  the  nature  of 
Miss  Vivian's  feelings,  coupled  as  it  was  with  his 
discovery  that  Sir  Rawlin  made  no  response  to  them, 
had  not  inflicted  on  him  any  new  dismay.  On  the  con- 
trary, it  had  afforded  him  a  sort  of  solemn  encourage- 
ment. It  had  also  lightened  his  heart  by  suggesting  a 
reasonable  explanation  of  the  facts  which  Dr.  Thistle- 
wood  that  morning  had  left  involved  in  mystery.  If 
matters  had  ended  here  Mr.  Barton  might  possibly 
have  slept  in  peace,  the  strange  scar  and  its  origin  being 
for  the  time  forgotten.  But  the  latter  part  of  the  even- 
ing had  undone  the  work  of  the  first.  Why  had  that 
woman  with  her  crochet-work  been  brought  in  to  mop 
and  mow  at  him?  Even  the  sound  of  Lord  Cotswold's 
voice,  as  it  talked  about  the  double  vision,  and  the  brain 
cells  with  their  jewelled  fire,  made  in  his  ears  an  echoing 
which  was  vaguely  sinister.  These  things,  however,  were 
trifles.  They  might  have  passed  out  of  his  mind — if 
it  had  not  been  for  Dr.  Thistlewood's  statement,  made 
by  him  with  such  a  ghostly  emphasis,  that  the  most 
depraved  of  women  was  fitter  to  be  an  honest  ma'n's 
wife  than  Miss  Vivian.  All  that  night  his  sleep  was  a 
conflict  with  distorted  dreams.  Now  he  saw  eyelids 
being  torn  from  living  faces,  now  arms  being  wounded 
for  some  diabolic  purpose,  while  the  operators  smiled 
and  watched.  Now  he  saw  brains  in  bottles,  burn- 
ing like  unhallowed  lamps  and  filling  dissecting  -  rooms 
with  gleams  of  blue  and  carmine.  Now  he  saw  girls 
with  prayer  shining  in  their  eyes,  while  allurement 
lurked  in  their  laughter  as  they  lounged  on  sofas  and 

376 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

hid  their   lips   behind   fans   or   fragments    of   foolscap 
paper. 

The  following  morning,  when  he  entered  Dr.  Thistle- 
wood's  large,  bare  room,  he  felt  like  a  man  about  to  sub- 
mit to  an  operation.  The  very  aspect  of  the  place  had 
something  in  it  austere  and  formidable.  There  were 
signs  of  preparation,  he  could  not  tell  for  what,  and  Dr. 
Thistlewood  himself  was  busy  arranging  a  series  of  ob- 
jects which  lay  in  a  row  on  a  long,  narrow  deal  table. 

His  manner  when  he  greeted  Mr.  Barton  was  not  in- 
deed unfriendly,  but  it  seemed  to  put  friendship  aside, 
as  though  it  were  for  the  moment  an  irrelevancy. 

"If  you  look  about  you,"  he  said,  slightly  smiling, 
"you  will  realize  why  it  was  necessary  for  you  to  come 
to  me  in  my  own  quarters.  Do  you  see  that  big  white 
sheet  drawn  across  the  end  of  the  room?  Do  you  see 
that  big  gramophone  and  the  other  machine  standing 
near  it?  Do  you  see  those  things  on  the  table — a  row 
of  portraits,  framed  together  in  twos  ?  Do  you  see  that 
by  each  pair  there  is  something  of  the  nature  of  a 
memorandum?  I  shall  have  to  make  use  of  all  these 
appliances  in  order  to  give  you  the  answer  which  you 
still  are  bent  on  forcing  from  me.  Come,  let  us  make 
a  beginning.  Our  concern  being  with  Miss  Vivian,  the 
young  lady  whom  you  desire  to  marry,  we'll  start  our 
proceedings  with  something  very  closely  connected  with 
her,  though  after  that  it  will  be  necessary  for  us  to  make 
digressions.  In  the  gramophone  at  this  moment  is  the 
record  of  a  very  interesting  speech.  You  shall  hear  a 
word  or  two  now.  By-and-by  we  will  have  the  whole 
of  it." 

Dr.  Thistlewood,  as  he  spoke,  set  the  instrument  in 
motion,  and  out  of  its  trumpet-shaped  throat  issued 
Miss  Vivian's  voice,  with  every  nuance  of  articulation 
perfect.  "What  shall  I  say?"  it  asked.  "Shall  I  re- 
peat some  passage  out  of  a  book?" 

"Good  Heaven!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Barton,  under  his 
breath. 

377 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

"For  the  moment,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "we'll  put 
that  record  by,  and  you  shall  hear  a  word  or  two  from 
another.  Now,  Mr.  Barton,  do  you  recognize  this?" 

The  instrument  spoke  again,  and  with  equal  fidelity 
to  life  the  following  words  saluted  Mr.  Barton's  ears: 
"Come,  Dr.  Thistlewood,  stick  me  in  the  right  place. 
How  must  I  speak?  So?  All  right.  Here  goes,  then." 

Mr.  Barton's  face  of  mixed  pain  and  disgust  showed 
that  he  recognized  the  voice  of  Miss  Enid  Wynn. 

"Of  that  speech,  too,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "we  will 
by-and-by  have  the  rest.  I  use  the  gramophone  system- 
atically for  making  psychological  memoranda,  but  be- 
fore we  come  back  to  it  I  must  show  you  some  other 
documents,  which  bear  on  the  cases  of  people  who  are 
closely  alike  physically.  On  that  table — will  you  come 
to  it? — I  have  arranged  a  series  of  photographs.  We'll 
take  this  pair  to  begin  with.  These  two  young  men,  as 
you  see,  are  strikingly  like  each  other.  There  is  the  same 
mole  on  the  left  cheek  of  each.  The  hair  from  both  fore- 
heads grows  in  the  same  way." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  "the  difference  seems  mainly 
one  of  expression.  One  of  them  looks  good  and  amiable, 
the  other  has  all  the  look  of  a  thoroughly  depraved 
young  ruffian." 

"Those,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "are  photographs  of 
the  two  Fourriers.  Here  is  a  series  of  similar  pairs — 
the  Dantons,  the  Voirons.  You  needn't  look  at  all  of 
them,  but  you  must  not  omit  this  pair.  Here  are  two 
photographs  representing  the  two  Desmoulins.  In  each 
pair  you  have  the  same  thing — a  striking  resemblance  of 
feature  and  a  striking  difference  of  expression.  Now 
you  shall  hear  them  talk.  Each  pair  of  portraits  are 
numbered  one  and  two.  We'll  begin  with  the  two 
Fourriers.  In  this  box  is  a  gramophone  record  of  some 
utterance  characteristic  of  each  of  them.  We'll  begin  with 
Fourrier  I. — the  good  Fourrier."  The  record  was  placed 
in  position,  and  a  voice  emerged  from  the  instrument 
describing  in  grateful  accents  the  kindness  with  which 

378 


AN    IMMORTAL    SOUL 

the  speaker  had  been  treated  by  certain  Belgian  fathers, 
the  sincerity  with  which  he  repented  of  his  early  religious 
levity,  and  his  constant  sense  of  the  goodness  and  pres- 
ence of  "le  bon  Dieu."  "  Now,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood, 
"I'll  give  you  Fourrier  II."  The  voice  which  emerged 
presently  seemed  at  first  to  be  identical  with  the  pre- 
ceding; but  it  quickly  changed  its  tone,  and  Mr.  Barton 
found  himself  listening,  almost  before  he  knew  it,  to  the 
obscene  rant  of  an  anarchist,  who  declared  that  the 
priests  and  the  bourgeoisie  should  alike  be  killed  like 
rats,  and  boasted  of  the  rapes  and  thefts  which  he  had 
committed,  and  which  he  threatened  to  repeat. 

"Here,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "are  other  similar 
records — Voiron  I.,  Voiron  II.;  Danton  I.,  Danton  II., 
and,  I  dare  say,  twenty  more.  But  the  two  Desmoulins 
will  be  enough  for  us.  Before  you  listen  to  them  come 
and  examine  their  photographs.  I  have,  for  the  mo- 
ment, covered  up  everything  but  the  faces.  Except  for 
a  difference  in  the  manner  in  which  they  do  their  hair, 
the  faces  of  these  two  women  can  hardly  be  called  dis- 
tinguishable. The  hair  of  Desmoulins  I.  is  arranged 
after  the  fashion  of  a  nun.  The  hair  of  Desmoulins  II. 
is  tousled  over  her  eyes  like  the  hair  of  a  dancer  at  a 
cafe  chantant.  Would  you  like  to  see  the  figures?" 
Dr.  Thistlewood  drew  a  sheet  of  paper  aside,  and  one 
of  the  figures  revealed  itself  habited  in  a  plain  black 
dress.  The  hands  were  clasped  devoutly.  On  the 
breast  was  a  large  cross.  The  other  figure  was  empha- 
sizing the  studied  deficiency  of  its  clothing  by  the  man- 
ner in  which  a  foot  was  extended  and  a  portion  of  the 
skirt  raised.  Dr.  Thistlewood  then,  as  before,  gave  by 
means  of  his  gramophone  a  specimen  of  the  voice  cor- 
responding to  each  picture.  "Listen,"  he  said;  "this 
is  Desmoulins  number  one.  Do  you  hear  ?  She  calls 
herself  '  Sister  Martha  of  the  Five  Wounds.'  She  doesn't 
talk  of  'my'  dress.  She  talks  of  'our'  dress,  as  a  nun 
would,  and  she  has  all  the  intonations  of  a  nun.  Now 
for  number  two.  I  must  apologize  for  asking  you  to 
*s  379 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

listen  to  what's  coming."  What  Mr.  Barton  heard  was 
a  snatch  or  two  of  a  French  song,  the  unrepeatable  mean- 
ing of  which  he  divined  rather  than  understood,  mixed 
with  addresses  to  some  favored  or  desired  cheri,  the 
meaning  of  which  was  equally  unrepeatable  and  very 
much  less  obscure.  Dr.  Thistlewood  stopped  the  gramo- 
phone before  the  performance  was  complete. 

"Well,  Mr.  Barton,"  he  said,  "I  have  now  given  you 
a  few  illustrations,  and  could  easily  have  given  you  more, 
of  the  fact  that  characters  of  a  violently  contrasted  kind 
may  belong  to  organisms  which  exhibit  no  perceptible 
differences  except  those  which  the  characters  impose  on 
them  by  modifying  facial  expression,  dress,  the  doing  of 
the  hair,  and  so  forth.  I  suppose  you  follow  me  thus 
far." 

"I  do,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  at  last  showing  some  anima- 
tion, "and  what  you  have  shown  me  shows,  if  you  will 
permit  me  to  say  so,  that  your  whole  conception  of  the 
relation  between  the  organism  and  the  self  must  be 
groundless.  For  if  two  organisms  are  alike  —  so  you 
told  us  at  Cliff's  End — the  two  selves  associated  with 
them  must  be  proportionally  alike  also;  but  everything 
which  you  have  just  shown  me — what  does  it  do?  Why, 
it  blows  this  conclusion  to  pieces  in  the  most  striking 
way,  in  the  most  convincing  way,  imaginable.  It  seems 
to  me  that  your  philosophy  has  been  hoist  with  its  own 
petard." 

"That,"  replied  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "is  a  criticism  which 
deserves  an  answer,  but  before  I  attempt  one  we'll  have 
one  demonstration  more.  We  have  heard  from  the  gram- 
ophone already  the  few  opening  words  of  something 
that  was  said  by  Miss  Vivian  and  of  something  that 
was  said  by  Miss  Wynn.  Let  us  now  listen  to  the  rest. 
What  Miss  Vivian  spoke  for  me  was  a  passage  from  a 
favorite  book.  She  named  the  author.  It  may  inter- 
est you  to  note  her  taste.  Her  first  words  you've  heard 
already.  Listen  to  what  comes  next."  Mr.  Barton  lis- 
tened, and  what  he  heard  was  this:  "Our souls,  stirred 

380 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

by  the  imagination,  long  to  follow  those  ships,  for  to 
us  it  seems  that  they  are  going  to  some  better  country — 
to  some  land  of  the  heart's  desire.  But  in  the  lands 
where  the  journeys  of  those  ships  end  the  heart  is  not 
satisfied.  Sorrow  will  come  down  and  meet  them  as 
soon  as  they  touch  the  quays.  So  it  is  with  all  the  fair 
things  of  nature.  They  awake  in  us  a  hunger  which  they 
themselves  cannot  satisfy.  What,  then,  can  satisfy  it? 
As  Augustine  says,  He  only  by  whom  all  these  things 
were  made." 

Mr.  Barton  listened  in  absolute  stillness.  Then  he 
averted  his  head.  His  eyes  swam  with  tears,  and  Dr. 
Thistlewood,  divining  that  this  was  inevitable,  made  a 
noise  to  proclaim  his  inattention  as  he  busied  himself 
with  a  new  record. 

"Now,  Mr.  Barton,"  he  said,  "  I  am  going  to  give  you 
something  which,  though  it  is  certain  to  cause  you  pain, 
it  is  absolutely  necessary,  for  your  own  sake,  to  inflict 
on  you.  You  will  hear  an  account  of  an  incident  in 
which  you  played  a  part  yourself." 

The  gramophone  hummed,  and  the  voice  of  Miss 
Wynn  leaped  from  it. 

"Come,  Dr.  Thistlewood,"  it  began,  "stick  me  in  the 
right  place.  How  must  I  speak?  So?  All  right.  Here 
goes,  then.  My  good  aunt,  who  fancied  I  was  a  bit  of 
a  heathen,  wanted  me  to  see  that  tame  cat  of  a  priest 
of  hers,  and  partly  to  please  her,  for  she's  an  awfully 
good  sort,  and  partly  to  see  if  he  was  of  the  same  breed 
as  the  rest — well,  I  just  said  I  would."  Absolutely  re- 
producing the  placidity  with  which  the  actual  account 
opened,  and  the  growing  excitement  and  virulence  which 
soon  began  to  infect  it,  the  mimic  voice  proceeded. 
"I'd  meant  at  first,"  it  said,  "if  I  could,  to  have  kept 
my  temper  and  merely  draw  the  fool  out.  I  managed 
to  stop  pretty  cool — I  must  say  that  for  myself — even 
when  he  was  trying  to  come  over  me  with  his  Gods  and 
his  Hells  and  Heavens  and  his  Spirit  of  Evil  and  his 
Fall  and  his  Book  of  Genesis  and  his  Judgment  and 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

his  Immortal  Life  and  his  silly  little  Sacraments,  which 
he  rattled  at  me  like  a  baby's  rattle;  but  when  he  took 
to  telling  me  that  my  parents  were  under  his  severe  dis- 
pleasure, and  talked  of  his  giving  orders  to  me — yes,  me! 
— as  my  spiritual  director,  then  at  last  I  let  fly,  and  I 
gave  it  him  hot  and  strong."  Then  some  phrases  fol- 
lowed relating  to  the  redemption  of  the  world  which 
had  given  a  kind  of  shock  to  even  her  original  auditors, 
and  the  voice  wound  up  by  saying,  with  a  half  laugh: 
"I  should  have  liked  to  have  given  him  a  taste  of  one 
of  his  own  sacraments  myself,  and  confessed  to  him  then 
and  there.  I  think  that  some  of  my  faults,  my  own 
faults,  my  very  grievous  faults,  would  have  sent  him 
away  cured  of  any  wish  to  absolve  me." 

"Horrible!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Barton,  "horrible!  I  can 
listen  to  no  more.  Who  can  doubt,  when  confronted 
with  depravity  and  malice  such  as  that,  that  a  living 
Spirit  of  Evil  makes  certain  souls  his  prey?  Not  only 
in  word  to  myself,  but  by  the  precocious  wickedness  of 
her  acts,  that  wretched  girl  has  outraged  the  sacred 
sacraments  which  she  derides.  Besides  baptism  she  has 
already  received  two  others — confirmation  and  the  holy 
eucharist — and  she  laughed,  though  merely  a  child,  at 
the  moment  of  receiving  both — yes,  even  at  the  mo- 
ment of  receiving  her  Lord's  body.  I  ought,  perhaps,  to 
be  only  sad  when  I  think  of  her.  But  I  can't  contain 
myself.  I  am  devoured  by  indignation  also." 

"I  understand  your  feelings,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood, 
more  gravely  than  ever.  "Were  I  in  your  position 
they  would  be  mine.  Miss  Enid  Wynn,  of  whom  I 
know  a  great  deal  more  than  you  do,  represents  every- 
thing which  is  bound  to  sadden  and  horrify  you.  Her 
intelligence  is  considerable.  It  is  deliberately  directed 
against  all  that  you  hold  sacred.  She  is  cruel,  after  a 
fashion  which  is  calculated  to  shock  anybody;  and  the 
fact  that  in  a  selfish  way  she  is  very  far  from  unamiable 
does  but  exhibit  her  perversities  in  a  yet  more  heinous 
light.  For  the  moment,  however,  we  will  drop  Miss 

382 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

Wynn.  Mr.  Barton,  come  back  to  these  photographs. 
There  they  lie  in  pairs,  one  after  the  other — Fourrier  I., 
Fourrier  II.,  and  the  rest  of  them.  I  have  a  confession 
to  make  to  you.  For  simplicity's  sake  in  explaining 
things,  I  took  you  in  just  now.  I  led  you  to  assume 
that  those  pairs  of  human  beings,  so  similar  in  their  ap- 
pearance, were  twins.  They  are  not  so.  Be  good  enough 
to  look  again  at  the  two  Fourriers.  Fourrier  I.  and  Four- 
rier II.  are  not  twins.  They  are  one  and  the  same  per- 
son. The  first  photograph — that  showing  the  good 
face — was  taken  at  noon  on  August  5,  1899,  just  after 
he  had  said  what  you  heard  about  his  gratitude  to  the 
Belgian  fathers.  The  second  photograph  was  taken  at 
noon,  August  qth,  just  before  or  just  after  that  speech 
of  his  about  rape  and  murder.  In  the  interval  he  had 
been  the  victim  of  an  attack  of  hystero-epilepsy,  fol- 
lowed by  a  stupor  which  lasted  thirty-seven  hours,  and 
that  mild  and  devout  young  man  woke  up  from  it  a 
blaspheming  ruffian.  In  these  two  conditions  Louis 
Fourrier  is  two  totally  different  characters,  and  in  each 
condition  he  knows  nothing  of  what  he  said  or  did  in 
the  other.  Here  we  come  again  to  the  Dantons.  There's 
a  note  of  this  case — though  the  ink  is  rather  faint — on 
the  margin:  'Alexis  Danton,  a  native  of  Aries,  educated 
by  his  uncle,  a  priest.  Up  to  the  age  of  fourteen,  a 
nervous  boy,  exceptionally  gentle  and  religious.  At 
that  age,  frightened  by  a  viper  hidden  in  a  bundle  of 
twigs,  is  thrown  into  convulsions,  then  becomes  uncon- 
scious; then,  on  recovering  his  senses,  exhibits  wholly 
new  dispositions,  knows  nothing  of  his  past  life,  and  five 
weeks  later  murders  an  old  man  in  a  wood.  Is  tried 
for  the  crime,  and  while  the  trial  is  proceeding  a  second 
crisis  conies.  His  original  character  is  restored  to  him, 
and  all  memory  and  knowledge  of  his  second  state  dis- 
appear.' Here  are  the  two  Voirons.  That  note  is  by 
Dr.  Remusat.  Voiron  I.  changed  into  Voiron  II.  sud- 
denly, and,  as  it  seemed  at  first,  without  any  change  in 
his  physical  state  whatever.  But  a  change,  of  course, 

383 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

there  had  been — a  profound  change — and  its  stigma 
was  soon  detected.  The  entire  surface  of  his  skin  had 
suddenly  become  insensible.  Here  are  the  pictures  of 
Bourne,  Barnes,  Hanna  (Hanna  was  a  clergyman  like 
yourself),  Harris,  Alma,  Gregson,  the  celebrated  Felida, 
and  so  on.  But  the  great  case  which  will  illustrate  the 
matter  most  clearly  is  that  of  Louise  Desmoulins." 

"Go  on,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  resignedly.  "I  have  been 
face  to  face  myself  with  the  depths  of  human  depravity. 
Whatever  you  may  show  me,  if  it  must  be  so,  I  can  en- 
dure." 

"I  will  begin,  then,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "with  a 
sketch  of  this  woman's  life.  But  first,  if  you  will  ex- 
cuse me" — and  here  he  touched  a  bell — "I  must  say 
something  to  my  servant.  Francesco,  you  will  be  good 
enough  to  push  the  bioscope  forward.  I  shall  want  the 
lime-light  presently.  Well,  Mr.  Barton,"  he  resumed, 
lowering  his  voice  somewhat,  "Louise  Desmoulins,  be- 
tween the  ages  of  seventeen  and  twenty,  lived  a  life  of 
the  lowest  profligacy.  She  was  then  rescued  and  placed 
in  a  convent  near  Dijon.  Her  reformation  was  rapid 
and  remarkable.  Her  acts  of  mortification  were  con- 
stant. She  was  constantly  on  her  knees  in  the  chapel. 
Angels  visited  her,  and  in  ecstasy  she  saw  the  Virgin. 
At  the  end  of  two  years  comes  a  violent  nervous  crisis, 
caused  by  a  fall  down-stairs,  and  followed  by  a  long 
lethargy.  She  wakes  up  and  her  religious  life  is  ob- 
literated. She  has  the  look,  the  manners,  and  the  lan- 
guage of  a  vicious  woman  of  the  street.  You  have  heard 
her  speak  under  both  conditions.  This  change  from  one 
condition  to  another  continued  to  recur  at  intervals  till 
her  death  at  the  age  of  thirty.  Generally  the  transitions 
were  too  slow,  being  accompanied  by  an  intervening  tor- 
por, to  be  susceptible  of  reproduction  by  the  bioscope. 
Her  case,  however,  was  under  my  observation  for  a 
somewhat  prolonged  period,  and  I  had  my  appliances 
in  readiness  should  a  suitable  opportunity  arise.  It 
came  at  last.  Louise,  who  for  six  months  had  been  in 

384 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

a  condition  of  sanctity,  fell  asleep  one  morning  after 
breakfast,  a  thing  which,  as  it  was  not  usual  with  her, 
roused  the  attention  of  my  assistant.  He  carefully 
watched  her  when  she  woke  up  a  few  hours  later,  and 
then  he  hastily  sent  for  me.  'The  change  is  coming,' 
he  said,  'but  it's  hardly  begun  yet.'  And,  so  far  as  I 
could  see  at  first,  her  demeanor  was  still  that  of  Sister 
Martha  of  the  Five  Wounds.  In  a  locked  closet  open- 
ing from  Sister  Martha's  room  I  had  secreted  that  very 
apparatus  which  my  servant  has  just  finished  preparing 
for  us.  I  told  my  assistant  to  get  it  ready  for  action, 
and  to  start  it  when  I  gave  the  signal.  You  shall  now 
see  what  it  recorded.  Francesco — what's  become  of  you  ? 
I  want  you  to  close  all  the  shutters.  That's  right — 
as  tight  as  you  can.  And  now  go  to  the  bioscope." 

Presently,  in  the  darkness,  the  sheet  at  the  end  of  the 
room  exhibited  a  huge  circle  of  blank,  unilluminated 
whiteness.  Then  the  whiteness  turned  into  walls  and 
furniture,  bleak  and  meagre,  and  depicted  in  brownish 
monochrome,  and  standing  among  these  was  a  woman 
of  weak  demeanor,  who  began,  having  first  crossed  her- 
self, to  dust  and  arrange  the  chairs.  Her  expression 
was  sweet  and  spiritual,  and  her  movements  slow  and 
placid,  till  she  came  to  a  poor  looking-glass,  before  which 
she  abruptly  paused  and  set  herself,  as  though  fasci- 
nated by  the  sight,  to  examine  her  own  reflection.  As 
she  did  so  her  hands  began  to  busy  themselves  with  her 
dress  and  hair,  the  severity  of  her  compressed  lips  re- 
laxing very  gradually  into  a  smile.  First  her  hair  was 
pulled  forward  till  it  nearly  touched  her  eyebrows.  Then 
the  body  of  her  dress,  buttoned  high  at  her  throat,  was 
loosened,  and  as  much  of  her  figure  was  displayed  as  the 
circumstances  of  the  case  made  possible.  Meanwhile 
her  eyes  were  losing  their  late  spiritual  quiet.  As  they 
ogled  themselves  in  the  glass  they  sparkled,  and  pres- 
ently, as  was  quite  evident,  her  lips  hummed  some  song. 
Then  her  feet  moved,  and  she  slightly  raised  her  skirts. 
At  this  juncture  Dr.  Thistlewood  came  into  the  field  of 

385 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

the  picture.  The  woman  turned  and  saw  him,  and  her 
transformation  was  at  once  complete.  She  advanced 
toward  him  with  a  dancing  step,  raising  her  skirts  light- 
ly. Her  face  was  bent  somewhat  downward  and  her 
leering  eyes  were  lifted.  He  was  seen  to  watch  her  in- 
tently, as  though  she  were  some  curious  animal,  and 
then  to  check  her  progress  with  an  imperious  gesture 
of  the  hand.  Then  the  scene  flickered,  and  the  illumi- 
nated sheet  was  white  again. 

Dr.  Thistlewood,  when  the  exhibition  was  over,  left 
Dr.  Barton  for  the  moment  to  the  company  of  his  own 
thoughts,  and,  telling  his  servant  to  open  one  of  the 
windows,  added,  in  a  low  tone:  "Give  me  box  g$A — 
the  locked  box — the  box  containing  the  series  which  I 
took  and  developed  in  Gloucestershire.  And  then  you 
can  go.  I've  something  to  say  to  this  gentleman  of  a 
very  private  kind." 

Mr.  Barton,  when  Dr.  Thistlewood  returned  to  him, 
wore  a  somewhat  dazed  expression.  "I  feel,"  he  said, 
"as  if  you'd  been  taking  me  through  all  the  horrors  of 
a  mad-house." 

Dr.  Thistlewood  gripped  his  arm,  and  with  an  al- 
most solemn  severity,  said:  "Let  me  look  at  you.  Are 
you  well  ?  Can  you  bear  what  is  bound  to  shock 
you?" 

"Yes!  yes!"  replied  Mr.  Barton,  impatiently.  "God 
help  me,  speak  out  and  have  done  with  it!" 

"So  be  it,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  his  solemn  manner 
persisting.  "You  have  seen  what  has  happened  to  my 
little  fiction  of  the  twins.  You  have  seen  how  these 
persons  represented  by  these  pairs  of  portraits — I  use 
the  word  '  person '  in  its  commonly  accepted  sense — are 
severally  not,  as  they  seem  to  be,  two  persons,  but  one. 
You  have  seen  this  with  special  vividness  in  the  case  of 
Louise  Desmoulins.  Mr.  Barton,  since  you  will  have  it, 
the  case  of  Miss  Vivian  and  Miss  Wynn  and  the  case  of 
Louise  Desmoulins  are  the  same.  Whether  the  names  of 
Wynn  and  Vivian  are  the  names  of  different  souls  is  a 

386 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

question  which  you  must  settle  as  you  please.  They 
are,  at  all  events,  names  for  the  same  body." 

Mr.  Barton  stared.  His  jaw  fell.  For  some  seconds 
the  entire  room  was  silent. 

"Come,"  said  Dr.  Thistle  wood,  brusquely,  "sit  down 
and  recover  yourself.  Let  me  get  you  a  glass  of  brandy. 
There,  drink  that,  and  don't  try  to  speak  for  a  minute 
or  two.  Meanwhile  I'll  arrange  something  else.  We 
may  possibly  find  it  necessary." 

He  was  still  engaged  in  his  operations,  over  which  he 
had  intentionally  lingered,  when  Mr.  Barton,  with  re- 
covered voice,  interrupted  him.  "Do  you  mean  to  tell 
me,"  he  gasped — "do  you  positively  mean  to  tell  me — 
but  no,  this  is  lunacy — do  I  understand  you  to  be  seri- 
ously asserting  that  Miss  Vivian  in  reality  has  never 
been  away  at  all — that  Miss  Wynn  was  Miss  Vivian  her- 
self masquerading  in  different  clothes — that  Miss  Vivian 
made  a  mock  of  religion?  But  no — the  whole  thing's 
incredible." 

Dr.  Thistlewood  was  somewhat  relieved  by  Mr.  Bar- 
ton's apparent  calm,  though  he  knew  it  was  the  calm  of 
a  consternation  which  as  yet  did  but  partly  understand 
itself.  "I  admit,"  he  said,  "that  it's  confusing.  Let 
me  tell  you  the  whole  story.  Miss  Vivian,  at  the  be- 
ginning of  her  illness,  did  go  away  for  a  day  or  two. 
She  was  sent  to  my  house  at  Malvern.  Her  parents  are 
naturally  anxious  that  her  peculiarities  should  be  kept 
secret,  and  by  the  advice  of  Dr.  Gonteau,  at  Nice,  she 
was  called  in  her  different  conditions  by  two  different 
names.  In  her  case  these  changes,  which  have  several 
times  occurred,  are  gradual,  and  such  being  the  case  I 
was  able,  by  taking  her  away  for  a  day  or  two,  to  bring 
her  back  in  her  other  condition  as  though  she  were  really 
a  sister.  A  contingency  of  this  kind  had  been  foreseen 
by  her  parents  from  the  first,  and  two  alternative  ward- 
robes were  sent  with  her  when  she  came  to  Southquay. 
Her  elderly  French  maid — a  discreet  and  very  well-paid 
person — knows  the  secret;  but  poor  Lady  Susannah — 

387 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

little  does  she  guess  what  those  two  wardrobes  mean! 
As  to  what  happened  after  the  accident  with  the  motor- 
car, that  is  simplicity  itself.  Knowing  the  turn  which 
events  might  possibly  take,  I  brought  the  young  lady 
here,  the  severe  inflammation  of  her  eyes  providing  me 
with  a  good  excuse,  and  here  she  remained  in  a  very 
curious  state  till  one  fine  morning  she  woke  up  as  Miss 
Vivian  again,  believing  herself  to  have  been  lying  here, 
unconscious  through  fever,  ever  since  the  memorable 
storm ;  and  she  only  knows  about  that  because  I  thought 
it  best  to  tell  her.  I  see — I  see  it  in  your  eyes — and  in- 
deed I  can  hardly  wonder  at  it — that  the  whole  story 
even  yet  seems  nothing  to  you  but  a  bad  dream.  If 
one's  in  for  a  painful  business,  it's  best  to  get  it  over 
and  have  done  with  it.  Let  me  show  you  one  thing 
more  which  will  probably  quicken  your  comprehension. 
Will  you  stay  where  you  are?  I  am  going  to  close  the 
window  again.  Now  watch  the  sheet.  What  the  lens 
is  about  to  throw  on  it  is  a  room  in  my  house  at  Malvern, 
and  in  that  room  will  take  place  an  incident  like  the  in- 
cident which  you  have  already  witnessed  from  the  life 
of  the  woman  Desmoulins." 

Again  on  the  sheet  came  a  circle  of  blank  whiteness. 
Then  the  whiteness  again  gave  place  to  a  room,  this  one 
being  daintily  though  very  simply  furnished,  and  there, 
on  a  sofa,  was  lying  a  female  figure  whose  dark  hair,  un- 
bound, was  dishevelled  on  a  pale  pillow.  The  eyes  were 
closed,  the  limbs  were  quiet  as  a  statue's.  Mr.  Barton 
held  his  breath.  He  was  looking  at  Miss  Vivian.  The 
limbs  were  quiet,  but  he  realized  in  a  few  seconds  that  a 
movement,  though  not  of  the  limbs,  had  already  begun 
somewhere.  It  was  a  heaving  of  the  beloved  breast. 
Suddenly,  with  a  start,  she  that  seemed  dead  rose.  With 
her  eyes  wide  open  she  lifted  herself  into  a  sitting  post- 
ure. She  stared,  blinked,  frowned,  and  her  mouth 
opened  and  moved  like  the  mouth  of  one  who  shouts. 
Then  from  behind  some  curtain  a  woman,  evidently  a 
nurse,  approached,  stroked  her  hair,  and  spoke  to  her 

388 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

with  reassuring  gestures.  Whereupon  a  little  dog  sprang 
up  and  scratched  at  the  invalid's  coverlet.  Mr.  Barton, 
meanwhile,  had  heard  a  humming  behind  him,  followed 
by  Dr.  Thistlewood's  words,  "Listen,  they  are  going 
to  talk,"  and  a  voice  which  he  recognized  as  the  voice 
of  Miss  Enid  Wynn  cried:  "Hi,  there! — where  am  I? 
What  the  devil  is  all  this?"  "It's  all  right,  miss,"  said 
the  nurse.  "You've  been  ill  since  that  day  in  the  hunt- 
ing field."  The  invalid  blinked  again,  and  then,  catching 
sight  of  the  dog,  "Take  the  little  brute  away,"  she  said. 
"Why  the  dickens  have  they  brought  it  here?"  Then 
the  gramophone  ceased  and  the  pictured  scene  vanished. 

"  Mr.  Barton,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  who  was  now 
opening  the  window-shutters,  "the  last  veil  has  been 
withdrawn  from  the  seclusion  of  Miss  Nest  Vivian.  I 
have  withdrawn  it  only  because  she  is  the  woman  whom 
you  have  hoped  to  marry." 

From  Mr.  Barton  there  came  no  word  of  answer. 
Still  seated,  as  though  in  profound  meditation,  with  his 
head  bent  forward,  he  was  resting  his  chin  on  his  high, 
clerical  waistcoat.  At  last  he  rose,  drew  himself  up 
with  an  air  of  suppressed  haughtiness,  and,  turning  to 
Dr.  Thistlewood,  broke  into  an  unnatural  laugh.  "  Prob- 
ably," he  said,  in  a  voice  hardly  less  unnatural,  "you 
don't  believe  in  the  New  Testament.  But  this  is  a  case 
of  possession.  I  recognize  every  symptom.  For  such 
evils  even  to-day  there  is  One  who  can  provide  a  cure. 
I  thank  you.  You  have  done  your  duty.  My  God,  let 
me  go  out  and  think!" 


CHAPTER   V 

AS  a  rule,  any  great  calamity  is,  in  proportion  to  its 
/-\  magnitude,  inadequately  realized  by  its  victim  at 
the  moment  of  its  actual  incidence — partly  because  it 
inflicts  a  shock  by  which  the  mind  is  at  first  paralyzed, 
partly  because  its  effects  are  complex,  revealing  them- 
selves to  the  victim's  consciousness  slowly  and  one  by 
one.  It  is  never,  indeed,  borne  so  easily  as  it  is  at  the 
first  moment.  Of  this  fact  Mr.  Barton's  case  was  an  il- 
lustration. "  Here  is  an  example  of  possession.  Through 
my  aid,  under  God,  she  shall  be  delivered  from  the  un- 
clean spirit."  This  thought,  which  he  carried  with  him 
when  he  left  the  Turkish  Castle,  was  in  its  own  way 
staggering,  for  it  brought  before  him  the  dread  power 
of  evil  in  an  almost  visible  shape;  and  yet,  like  a  gleam 
of  sunshine,  it  cheered  him  till  he  reached  his  home,  for 
it  offered  a  solution  of  his  perplexities,  and  also  a  prac- 
tical hope,  both  of  which  were  in  accordance  with  his 
own  beliefs.  But  as  soon  as  he  found  himself  in  his 
library,  and  exercise  no  longer  distracted  him,  his  in- 
tellect became  like  a  caldron  over  whose  ferment  he 
had  no  control,  and  thoughts  began  to  rise  like  clouds 
from  it  which  blotted  the  pale  gleam  out. 

That  a  devil  should  be  permitted  to  oust  Miss  Vivian 
from  her  own  body — from  that  temple  of  the  Holy  Ghost 
— by  means  of  an  attack  of  influenza  or  an  electrical 
condition  of  the  atmosphere,  neither  of  which  were  con- 
nected with  any  fault  of  her  own — this,  so  his  intellect 
urged  on  him,  was  not  a  very  welcome  conception ;  but 
that  the  devil  should  be  exorcised,  not  by  any  spiritual 
agency,  but  by  the  physical  shock  resulting  from  the 

390 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

vagaries  of  a  motor-car,  was  a  conception  more  unwel- 
come still.  It  would  open  the  door  to  a  materialism 
more  grotesque  even  than  Dr.  Thistlewood's.  Perhaps, 
however — and  here  was  a  new  suggestion — the  weakness 
of  her  body,  which  rendered  possession  possible,  might 
be  cured  once  for  all  through  the  strength  which  would 
soon  be  imparted  to  her  by  confirmation.  This  sugges- 
tion had  hardly  had  time  to  form  itself  before  it  was  ex- 
tinguished by  the  reflection,  forced  on  Mr.  Barton  now 
for  the  first  time,  that  this  being  whom  he  called  Miss 
Vivian,  and  whom  he  had  learned  to  love  while  prepar- 
ing her  for  that  great  sacrament,  had  received  it  already 
— had  received  it  years  ago.  Then  his  mind,  like  a 
mechanism  which  developed  some  new  movement,  sud- 
denly swept  these  intellectual  problems  away  from  him, 
and  began  to  torment  him  with  an  alternation  of  two 
pictures  and  of  two  sets  of  verbal  memories.  He  saw 
Miss  Vivian  looking  at  him  as  she  had  looked  at  him  out- 
side the  church  on  that  sacred  and  remembered  morning 
when  he  had  taken  his  first  walk  with  her.  He  saw  her 
as  she  was  when  he  had  talked  to  her  about  God  and 
human  affection.  He  saw  her  as  she  was  when,  although 
then  unwittingly,  she  had  given  her  lips  to  his.  And 
each  of  these  visions  brought  with  it  the  tones  of  her 
appealing  voice,  charged  as  they  were  with  the  uplift- 
ings  and  the  tremulous  susceptibilities  of  the  soul.  Then 
came  a  second  image  associated  with  the  name  of  Wynn 
and  a  voice  from  the  very  thought  of  which  he  still  re- 
coiled in  horror.  With  a  spasm  of  incredulity  which 
fought  in  vain  against  conviction,  he  asked  himself  if 
the  lips  of  prayer  which  had  once  touched  his  own  were 
those  very  lips  which  in  his  hearing  had  been  foul  with 
malice  and  blasphemy. 

From  intellectual,  from  moral,  and  from  emotional 
tortures  such  as  these  there  seemed  to  be  no  escape. 
One  passed  from  his  consciousness  only  to  give  place  to 
another,  till  the  series  began  anew  in  a  fatal  and  closed 
circle. 

391 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

"Luncheon  is  ready,  if  you  please,  sir,"  said  the  voice 
of  his  maid,  interrupting  him. 

"Leave  it  on  the  table,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  wearily. 
"I'll  take  what  I  want  when  I'm  ready  for  it.  And  stay 
— run  across  to  the  vicarage  and  say  that  I've  just  been 
with  a  doctor.  I  have  what  the  doctors  would  call  a 
neuralgic  headache,  and  for  a  day  or  two  may  be  unfit 
for  anything.  Ask  the  vicar  to  arrange  about  the  ser- 
vices with  Mr.  Moore  and  with  Mr.  Entwistle.  Or,  no — 
I'll  write  a  line  myself.  Don't  go  telling  people  that  I'm 
ill.  All  I  want  is  to  be  left  absolutely  quiet." 

When  the  note  had  been  written  and  despatched  a 
new  impulse  took  possession  of  him.  Quitting  his  house, 
which  he  now  felt  to  be  intolerable,  he  wandered  off  with 
his  sorrows  to  a  little,  unfrequented  bay,  where  he  threw 
himself  down  on  the  softness  of  the  white  sand,  and  the 
sighs  and  the  murmurs  of  the  water  lulled  him  out  of 
the  sense  of  time.  When  at  length  he  roused  himself,  he 
was  conscious  of  a  bright  and  tender  thought  stealing 
into  the  blank  misery  which  now  made  up  his  being, 
bringing  to  him  a  new  hope.  It  was  the  thought  of  Miss 
Vivian  as  she  must  have  been  when  a  little  child,  be- 
fore her  troubles,  whatever  might  be  their  nature,  fell 
on  her.  Here,  at  all  events,  was  a  soul  fresh  from  the 
hands  of  God,  which  could  not  be  lost  or  sullied  except 
through  its  own  perversity.  However  its  life  might  be 
hidden,  it  was  impossible  that  its  life  should  cease,  and, 
come  what  might,  he  never  would  let  it  go.  When  he 
re-entered  his  house  he  found  a  note  from  his  vicar 
saying  all  that  was  suitable,  and  this  note  had  been 
placed  on  a  bulky  packet,  the  direction  of  which  was  in 
the  writing  of  Dr.  Thistlewood. 

Still  disposed  to  be  sanguine,  Mr.  Barton  tore  the 
packet  open,  and  found  that  among  its  contents  were 
these  few  words  from  the  sender: 

"I  said  that  there  were  many  details  which  I  could  not  ex- 
plain this  morning,  but  now  that  you  have  time  to  realize  the 

392 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

general  character  of  the  situation,  the  enclosed  documents  may 
help  you  in  forming  a  clearer  estimate  of  it.  They  are  notes  of 
Miss  Vivian's  case,  made  by  Dr.  Gonteau,  of  Nice,  who  has 
known  her  from  her  birth  onward." 

These  notes,  written  in  French,  were  encumbered  with 
much  medical  detail.  Mr.  Barton,  to  facilitate  his  com- 
prehension of  them,  had  to  make  notes  of  his  own. 
Thus  aided,  after  many  hours  of  study,  he  discovered 
that  the  most  important  portions  of  them  were  as 
follows: 

"Enid  Nest  Wynn  Vivian,  aged  nineteen  in  190 — .  Single; 
born  in  France;  the  child  of  wealthy  parents.  The  father  Welsh; 
the  mother  Belgian.  Traces  of  religious  excitability  in  father's 
family.  Want  of  moral  balance  in  father's  character.  Caught 
cheating  at  cards,  though  in  no  pecuniary  difficulties.  Left  his 
own  country  in  consequence.  Maternal  grandmother  attached 

to  court  of  King of .  Beautiful;  very  devout; 

reputed  to  be  King's  mistress.  Mother  divorced  from  first 
husband.  Accomplished,  open-handed,  sceptical  in  matters  of 
religion. 

"  Enid  was,  from  the  first,  a  mischievous  though  a  clever  child. 
To  all  appearance  her  health  was  perfect.  She  was  always 
alarming  her  attendants  by  making  her  escape  from  the  nursery. 
On  two  occasions  (aged  four)  found  her  way  into  the  streets. 
Discovered  on  first  occasion  playing  with  three  strange  boys; 
on  the  second  had  been  taken  to  police-station.  Discovered 
sitting  on  table  talking  and  laughing  with  inspector.  Her 
nurses.  Catholics,  complained  of  her  disinclination  to  say  her 
prayers,  or  of  her  irreverent  manner  of  saying  them.  She  was 
constantly  reproved  for  her  use  of  slang  and  profane  expressions, 
her  delight  in  these  being  increased  by  the  perception  that  they 
shocked  her  elders. 

"  At  the  age  of  six  she  caught  a  severe  chill  and  was  laid  up 
for  a  week,  bearing  her  illness  with  very  great  impatience.  This 
was  succeeded  by  a  long  period  of  somnolence.  After  the  dis- 
appearance of  this  symptom  it  was  noticed  by  both  nurses  that 
her  disposition  had  undergone  some  change.  She  was  quiet,  gen- 
tle, talked  no  slang,  said  her  prayers  with  remarkable  diligence 
and  devotion,  and  asked  many  questions  about  religion. 

"This  change  persisted  for  twenty-one  days,  after  which  she 
was  frightened  by  the  falling  of  a  china  jar.  The  fright  was  suc- 
ceeded by  a  violent  throbbing  of  the  temples,  and  this  by  a  deep 

393 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

sleep,  which  was  evidently  hypnoleptic  in  character.  When  she 
woke  it  was  observed  that  her  disposition  had  reverted  to  that 
which  it  had  been  three  weeks  ago — in  other  words,  the  dispo- 
sition which  she  had  manifested  from  the  cradle. 

"Except  for  this  interval  of  three  weeks,  the  development  of 
her  character  was  continuous  up  to  the  age  of  ten.  At  the  age 
of  seven  she  was  sent  as  a  day  pupil  to  the  convent  at  Cimiez. 
She  spent  much  of  her  leisure  time  with  three  boys,  the  sons  of 
an  English  gentleman,  occupant  of  a  neighboring  villa,  romping 
with  them  and  getting  into  all  kinds  of  trouble.  At  the  convent 
she  was  precocious  in  her  studies,  but  was  constantly  in  disgrace 
for  laughing  at  the  sisters,  at  the  books  supplied  for  study,  and 
at  the  character  of  the  instruction  generally. 

"At  the  age  of  ten  fell  when  climbing  an  olive-tree,  and  was 
carried  home  insensible.  Remained  so  for  twenty  hours,  and 
woke  up  with  no  memory  of  her  past  life  except  the  three  weeks 
preceding  the  fall  of  the  china  jar,  which  she  seemed  to  imagine 
had  only  just  taken  place.  Her  first  question  was :  '  What  has 
happened  to  the  bits  ?'  Her  disposition,  too,  was  similar  to  what 
it  had  been  during  the  weeks  in  question.  She  was  gentle  and 
religious,  said  her  prayers  devoutly,  and  often  accompanied  a 
lady,  an  acquaintance  of  her  parents,  to  the  English  church. 
She  exhibited,  moreover,  a  strong  taste  for  poetry,  and  was  very 
fastidious  as  to  her  dress,  rejecting  with  contempt  the  clothes 
previously  worn  by  her.  In  this  idiosyncrasy  her  mother  was 
delighted  to  indulge  her,  allowing  her  to  buy  hats,  boots,  gloves, 
stockings,  and  lingerie  as  she  pleased.  As  to  her  general  health, 
she  was  not  so  robust  as  formerly,  and  for  two  years  was  taken 
care  of  by  an  English  clergyman's  widow,  who  lived  alternately 
at  Mentone  and  a  small  village  near  Geneva.  During  this  period 
she  called  herself  by  her  second  name,  Nest,  having  always  been 
known  previously  by  her  other  and  her  first  name,  Enid. 

"At  the  end  of  this  period  she,  being  then  just  twelve,  was 
thrown  from  a  donkey  between  Mentone  and  St.  Agnese,  was 
much  shaken,  and  experienced  a  kind  of  paroxysm  at  the  sight 
of  her  injured  clothes  and  especially  her  disfigured  hands.  An 
illness  of  three  days  followed,  ending  in  hypnoleptic  torpor.  On 
the  fourth  day  woke  up  with  character  and  memories  of  Enid, 
and  unable  to  account  for  the  situation  in  which  she  found  her- 
self. 

"  An  Anglo- Jewish  stock-broker,  with  a  wife  superior  to  him- 
self, took  her  with  them  to  Cairo,  to  a  lodge  in  Scotland,  and 
to  a  hunting-box  in  the  English  midlands.  During  this  period, 
at  her  parents'  desire,  she  drops  the  name  of  Vivian  and  is 
known  as  Enid  Wynn.  Her  present  protectors — not  perhaps 

394 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

the  best  judges — report  nothing  objectionable  in  her  conduct. 
In  the  winter  of  19 — ,  at  the  age  of  eighteen  years  and  two 
months,  she  has  an  attack  of  influenza,  induced  by  a  chill  caught 
in  the  hunting-field.  This  lasts  ten  days.  She  then  quits  her 
bed  and  is  taken  out-of-doors.  A  relapse  ensues,  resulting  from 
a  fresh  chill.  A  few  days  later  complains  of  violent  headache; 
light  pains  her ;  she  is  kept  in  a  dark  room ;  exhibits  fear  of  every 
one;  mistakes  people  for  snakes.  Gradually  these  symptoms 
disappear;  she  becomes  so  weak  that  she  can  scarcely  swallow, 
and  sinks  finally  into  a  sort  of  trance-like  collapse  supposed,  at 
first,  to  be  death. 

"  On  emerging  from  this  state,  though  her  weakness  somewhat 
disguised  the  fact,  she  exhibited  a  change  of  manner  which  her 
friends  and  attendants  thought  curious.  An  account  of  her  was 
sent  to  her  parents,  and  to  myself  also,  and  we  at  once  divined 
what  must  have  already  happened  or  be  impending.  Arrange- 
ments were  promptly  made  for  her  transference  to  the  care  of 
an  aunt  who  resides  in  the  southwest  of  England,  a  considerable 
payment  being  made  by  the  parents  on  her  account,  with  a 
view  to  her  remaining  under  the  aunt's  care  permanently.  I 
went  myself  to  England  to  superintend  her  removal.  She  was 
brought  to  the  house  of  my  friend  Dr.  Maddison,  in  Harley 
Street,  still  in  a  state  of  very  imperfect  consciousness.  There, 
after  a  few  hours  of  profound  torpor,  she  awoke,  to  all  appear- 
ance well,  but  she  awoke  in  the  character  of  Nest;  and  when  she 
was  told  that  she  was  being  taken  to  her  relations  in  England, 
in  order  to  regain  her  strength,  she  imagined  herself  to  be  just 
recovering  from  the  effects  of  the  thunder-storm  at  Mentone, 
more  than  two  years  ago,  the  storm  and  her  own  terror  being  the 
last  things  she  remembered. 

"  I  took  her  to  Southquay,  and  she  has  been  under  my  obser- 
vation since.  Her  nervous  condition  is  still  highly  unstable, 
but  a  healthy  life,  not  too  dull,  yet  wanting  in  occasions  of  agita- 
tion, may  lead  to  restoration  of  health  and  possible  permanence 
of  present  condition." 

It  was  midnight  before  Mr.  Barton  had  finished  ex- 
tracting these  salient  passages,  and  writing  out,  as  he 
did,  a  careful  and  literal  translation  of  them.  He  was, 
when  he  had  finished,  too  tired  to  reread  them  or  con- 
sider their  general  significance  before  he  succumbed  to 
sleep,  nor  did  his  mind  in  the  night  pay  any  conscious 
attention  to  them;  but  when  he  came  down  the  next 
morning  to  his  early  toast  and  coffee,  and  drew  his  docu- 
*6  395 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

ments  forth  from  the  drawer  in  which  he  had  placed 
them,  he  realized,  before  he  had  time  to  reread  a  single 
sentence,  that  they  were  fraught  with  a  meaning  to 
which  overnight  he  had  been  blind.  He  had  gone  to 
sleep  still  drawing  comfort  from  the  thought  of  his 
loved  one  in  her  earliest  childhood,  when  her  soul,  her 
true  self,  had  been  free  from  all  strange  vicissitudes,  and 
of  the  beautiful  years  which  gave  earnest  of  others  which 
were  yet  to  be.  He  now  realized  in  a  flash  that,  if  Dr. 
Gonteau's  records  meant  anything,  all  thoughts  such  as 
these  were  founded  on  the  most  vain  of  dreams,  and 
their  place  was  taken  by  others  whose  import  was  pre- 
cisely opposite.  If  the  child  as  born  into  the  world,  the 
little  child  as  baptized,  is  the  true  soul,  the  true,  indivisi- 
ble self,  and  if  any  other  self  supervening  is  not  a  true 
self  at  all,  then  the  true  self  in  this  case  was  not  the  Miss 
Vivian  whom  he  loved,  but  the  portent  that  had  been 
called  her  sister.  Enid  Wynn  Vivian — so  the  pitiless 
record  assured  him  —  had,  till  she  was  ten  years  old, 
been  recognized  by  all  who  knew  her,  her  religious 
teachers  included,  as  a  perfectly  healthy  and  excep- 
tionally clever  child.  What  was  the  difference  between 
her  and  any  other  of  those  unhappy  children  who,  from 
childhood  onward,  prefer  evil  to  good  ?  Of  all  the  facul- 
ties possessed  by  the  God-created  human  soul,  none  at- 
tested more  clearly  that  soul's  divine  origin  than  con- 
science— the  mystical  faculty  by  which  good  and  evil  are 
distinguished;  and  the  presence  of  this  faculty  in  Enid 
Wynn  was  conspicuous ;  for  ill-doing,  even  in  the  nursery, 
had  afforded  her  an  impish  pleasure.  Unless  it  could  be 
maintained  that  all  sinners  were  phantoms — and  if  this 
were  so,  why  should  Christ  have  died  for  them?  —  the 
soul  of  Enid  was  as  real  as  the  soul  of  the  greatest  saint. 
And  on  this  consideration  there  followed  the  stupendous 
question — if  his  own  one,  his  beloved  one,  were  not  a 
true  soul,  what  was  she  ?  Was  she  merely  an  iridescence, 
a  phosphorescence,  on  the  quagmire  of  organic  matter? 
Here  the  passion  of  the  lover  expanded  itself  into  that 

396 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

of  the  believer  and  the  theologian.  "  If  such  is  the  case, " 
he  cried  out  to  himself,  "with  one  soul,  is  it  not  the 
case  with  all?  What,  then,  shall  become  of  us?  Is  not 
our  whole  faith  vain?"  Both  these  passions  were  tor- 
menting him  when  the  morning's  post  arrived,  bringing 
him  a  letter  from  Lady  Susannah  Lipscombe.  It  helped 
to  separate  them,  and  it  also  inflamed  each.  She  wrote: 

"DEAR  MR.  BARTON, — I  was  so  sorry  to  see,  the  other  night 
at  Lord  Cotswold's  little  party,  that  you  were  still  suffering.  I 
could  see  it  now  and  then  quite  clearly  from  your  face;  and  now 
my  maid  has  heard  from  one  of  your  servants  that  you  had  been 
'  dreadful  bad,'  as  she  called  it,  with  a  sort  of  neuralgic  headache. 
I  hope  it's  quite  gone  by  this  time;  but  if  it  is  not,  will  you 
let  me  send  you  a  stick  of  something  I  have  which  is  made  up 
with  peppermint,  and  if  you  rub  it  on  your  temples  it  will  take 
the  pain  away. 

"And  now,  Mr.  Barton,  I  want  to  say  something  else,  too; 
and  if  I  ask  you  a  searching  question  you  must  not  think  that 
I  do  so  out  of  any  prying  curiosity.  Since  your  return  from 
Nice,  though  you  brought  with  you  her  parents'  approval,  you 
have  said  nothing  more  to  me  about  Nest — I  mean  about  your 
hopes  and  intentions.  Has  there  been  any  misunderstanding? 
Nest  has  been  just  as  silent  about  the  subject  as  you  have.  I 
thought  at  Lord  Cotswold's  party  that  your  behavior  to  her  was 
rather  odd.  I  ask  you  this  because  Nest  herself  seems  suffering. 
I  noticed  this  at  the  party  first,  and  since  then  she  has  become, 
not  physically  ill,  but  pensive.  I  went  yesterday  to  see  her 
about  something  in  her  sitting-room,  and  I  found  her  poring 
over  that  beautiful  book  you  gave  her,  with  pictures  of  the 
visions  of  the  saints  in  it.  She  was  looking  at  them — I  hardly 
know  how  to  put  it — well,  as  a  girl  might  look  who  was  looking 
at  a  picture  of  her  fiance,  and  I  have  my  suspicions  that  she  was 
in  your  church  before  breakfast,  I  don't  know  for  how  long, 
without  having  eaten  anything.  You  remember  our  old  anxiety 
about  her  on  this  score.  I  won't  ask  you  for  any  secrets,  but  if 
there's  some  trouble  which  you  know  about,  cannot  you  make 
things  straight  one  way  or  the  other  ?  When  are  you  coming  to 
see  her  again  about  confirmation  ?  Or  do  you  think —  But  no 
— I  won't  say  more  till  I  hear  from  you." 

Confirmation !  The  word  was  like  a  blow,  driving  into 
his  flesh  a  thorn  whose  point  had  been  already  fixed  in 

397 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

it.  Miss  Vivian's  confirmation  was  a  fact  accomplished 
long  ago.  How  could  he  prepare  her  for  a  sacrament 
which  could  never  be  received  again  ?  Or,  rather,  had 
she  received  it  ?  Was  the  child  who  had  been  confirmed 
she?  How  could  Christ  be  Belial?  How  could  she 
be  identical  with  the  adolescent  Enid  Wynn?  He  felt, 
as  he  asked  these  questions,  that  his  forehead  was  grow- 
ing wet  and  cold.  She  herself  —  his  dearest  —  who  so 
desired  this  holy  rite,  was  now,  in  the  disappointment 
arising  from  a  misadventure  of  her  young  fancy,  seeking 
consolation  among  the  saints,  and  in  good  time  she  would 
learn,  aided  by  his  own  care,  that  love  had  meanings  of 
which  as  yet  she  had  hardly  dreamed.  He  could  see  her 
turning  the  leaves  of  that  book — the  Visions  of  the  Saints 
— his  own  gift  to  her — with  those  delicate  hands —  But 
his  imagination  here  recoiled.  He  struck  his  forehead 
sharply,  as  though  to  dispel  the  image.  He  had  seen 
that  one  wrist  was  branded  with  the  beginnings  of  a  red 
scar.  Yielding  to  his  volition,  the  detested  detail  dis- 
appeared. She  was  dearer  to  him  now  than  ever,  but  he 
dared  not  yet  intrude  on  her.  He  must,  for  a  few  days, 
leave  her  to  learn  her  new  lesson  in  secret.  He  must 
also,  meanwhile,  learn  new  lessons  himself.  He  must 
learn  to  endure  the  recurrence  of  thoughts  which  at  pres- 
ent scalded  him.  He  must  make  himself  master  of  dif- 
ficulties which  still — he  could  not  deny  this — escaped 
his  grip  and  reformed  themselves,  like  the  coils  of  some 
endless  serpent.  But  Lady  Susannah's  letter  must,  in 
any  case,  be  dealt  with  now.  His  answer  was  brief.  He 
wrote : 

"  So  far  as  I  am  concerned,  no  complication  has  arisen  of  a 
kind  to  distress  your  niece.  Things  may  have  to  be  postponed. 
I  shall  be  the  only  sufferer.  If  anything  which  strikes  you  as 
excessive  church-going  continues,  will  you  let  me  know,  but  do 
not  check  her  unless  it  seems  absolutely  necessary.  I  am  still 
rather  out  of  sorts,  and  one  of  the  other  curates  will,  for  a  day 
or  two,  undertake  my  confirmation  classes.  As  to  her,  a  per- 
plexing fact  has  just  come  to  my  knowledge.  A  communication 
has  reached  me  from  Nice  to  the  effect  that  she  has  been  con- 

398 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

firmed  already.  This,  it  appears,  was  in  her  childhood,  but  a 
nervous  attack,  like  that  from  which  she  has  just  recovered,  has 
erased  the  fact  from  her  memory,  and  her  parents — Heaven  help 
them — never  thought  it  worth  their  while  to  tell  her.  A  little 
later,  when  I  have  had  more  time  to  reflect,  I  will  explain  the 
matter  to  her  myself.  You  may  trust  me,  I  think,  to  do  my 
best  for  her." 

The  effort  of  writing  brought  him  a  moment's  ease. 
When  the  letter  was  finished  and  despatched  the  old 
troubles  began  again,  but  once  again  their  activity  was 
interrupted  by  an  extraneous  incident.  A  parcel  was 
brought  to  Mr.  Barton  which  apparently  contained  books, 
and  the  parcel  was  accompanied  by  a  letter  to  the  follow- 
ing effect  from  Dr.  Thistlewood: 

"  I  shall  be  interested  to  hear  your  opinion  when  you  have 
read  Dr.  Gonteau's  notes,  but  I  beg  you  to  be  in  no  hurry.  To- 
day and  to-morrow  I  am  engaged,  and  in  any  case  I  think  that 
it  would  be  better  that,  before  we  resume  our  conversation,  you 
should  have  ample  time  for  thinking  things  over  by  yourself. 
I  am  sending  you  three  books.  One  is  a  modern  treatise  on 
psychology,  by  Father  M.,  a  Roman  Catholic  priest;  the  two 
others  are  monographs  dealing  with  two  well  -  known  cases 
similar  to  Miss  Wynn  Vivian's.  I  won't  ask  you  to  wade  through 
the  whole  —  each  of  the  two  monographs  contains  some  five 
hundred  pages — but  I  have  made  notes  of  the  parts  to  which  1 
wish  to  draw  your  attention.  In  Father  M.'s  book  there  is  only 
one.  This  one  passage  is,  at  all  events,  enough  to  show  that  he 
recognizes  the  necessity  of  facing  the  problems  which  such  cases 
raise.  Were  I  you,  I  should  go  away  for  a  day  or  two.  Rest 
and  a  change  of  scene  would,  I  am  confident,  do  much  to  clear 
your  thoughts." 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  suggestion  contained  in  Dr.  Thistlewood's  clos- 
ing words  Mr.  Barton  had  made  already  more  than 
once  to  himself.  He  had  longed,  herein  resembling  many 
other  troubled  men,  to  take  himself  far  away  and  fight 
his  fight  in  the  wilderness.  If  this  were  to  be  done  at 
all  it  might  as  well  be  done  now.  No  actual  wilderness 
of  the  traditional  kind  was  available — no  Bo-tree,  no 
Mount  of  God;  but  some  twelve  miles  off  was  a  watering- 
place,  at  the  present  season  always  empty,  whose  in- 
habitants and  whose  streets  would  be  strange  to  him, 
and  where  he  could  wander  about  the  beach  alone. 
This  would  suit  his  purpose.  He  would  start  within 
the  next  hour,  and  these  books  of  Dr.  Thistlewood's — 
they  could  go  with  him,  and  he  would  read  them  there. 

Often  as  he  had  passed  this  quiet  bathing-resort  in  the 
train  he  had  never  before  entered  it,  and  now  when  a 
station  omnibus  had  set  him  down  there  at  an  Old- World 
inn  he  could  have  fancied  himself  in  a  foreign  town. 
Here  he  spent  two  days,  and  here  in  the  blank  hours, 
with  nothing  to  interrupt  him,  he  felt  that  by  some 
gradual  and  not  very  orderly  process  his  confused 
troubles  were  assuming  some  coherent  order.  He  came 
to  realize,  as  he  had  not  done  at  first,  that  these  troubles 
were  of  two  distinct  kinds.  One  related  to  his  own  pure- 
ly personal  affections,  the  other  to  his  entire  conception 
of  the  nature  of  man  and  God,  and  the  question  of 
whether  all  he  held  sacred  were  not  merely  some  mon- 
strous dream. 

So  far  as  he  personally  and  his  own  affections  were 
concerned,  his  case,  so  he  told  himself,  did  not  differ 

400 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

essentially  from  what  it  might  have  been  had  he  dis- 
covered that  the  woman  he  loved  was  the  daughter  of 
a  murderess,  or  that  she  herself  was  liable  to  fits  of 
homicidal  mania,  or  that  she  had  been  over-persuaded 
by  somebody  to  assist  in  an  act  of  forgery.  Facts  such 
as  these  might,  it  was  quite  conceivable,  divide  him  for- 
ever from  her  and  from  his  own  happiness ;  but  any  mere 
private  affliction,  however  desolating  its  character,  would 
be  bearable  with  the  aid  of  prayer,  and  of  resignation  to 
the  Divine  Will;  and  love,  if  thwarted  here,  might  count 
on  attaining  its  fit  reward  hereafter. 

But  in  his  own  case,  behind  and  beyond  his  merely 
personal  difficulties  were  others  which  at  once  rose  out 
of  and  interpenetrated  them,  which  threatened  the  very 
foundations  of  the  fortitude  by  which  they  might  have 
been  borne  otherwise,  and  which  were  not  personal  but 
universal.  Here  were  problems  connected  with  the  very 
foundations  of  the  Catholic  faith,  with  the  entire  sacra- 
mental system,  with  the  redemption  of  man  by  Christ, 
with  that  high  philosophy  of  soul  from  which,  as  from 
a  solid  rock,  he  had  looked  down  hitherto  at  the  turbid 
foam  of  materialism.  Here  were  problems  connected 
with  the  very  nature  of  conscious  existence,  and  the 
significance  of  the  human  race.  Miss  Vivian's  case  could 
not  possibly  stand  alone,  and  if  her  soul  were  really  a 
vessel  which  could  be  broken  into  different  parts,  his 
own  soul  and  every  soul  was  susceptible  of  disintegra- 
tion likewise.  It  was  bound  to  be  disintegrated  by 
death.  The  supreme  thinkers  of  the  past,  no  less  than 
the  saints,  were  wrong,  and  an  urchin  like  Hugo  Arundel 
was  nearer  to  the  truth  than  they.  All  the  universe 
collapsed  in  a  heap  of  ruins. 

By  an  effort  of  the  will  he  freed  himself  from  the 
thought  of  his  private  sorrows,  and  fixed  his  mind  on 
these  fundamental,  these  all-comprehending,  questions. 
He  turned  them  over  and  over  as  he  wandered  in  be- 
wildered misery  along  the  mile  of  silent  esplanade 
which  ran  between  a  common  and  the  sea.  He  wan- 

401 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

dered  to  and  fro,  moving  rapidly  now,  now  slowly,  till 
his  pale,  abstracted  face  and  striking  figure  became  a 
familiar  perplexity  to  the  few  loiterers,  whose  presence, 
like  his  own,  accentuated  rather  than  broke  the  solitude. 
At  last,  yielding  to  mere  physical  weariness,  he  seated 
himself  in  one  of  those  wooden  shelters  which  were 
frequent  here,  as  they  are  at  other  sea-side  resorts. 
When  he  entered  it  the  little  structure  was  vacant ;  nor 
was  he  aware  that  two  nurses,  whose  charges  were  dig- 
ging on  the  sands,  had  settled  themselves  shortly  after- 
ward in  the  corner  opposite  his  own,  and  looked  at  each 
other  as  some  murmured  words  from  time  to  time  es- 
caped him.     At  last  he  was  himself  startled  by  the  sound 
of  his  own  voice.     "My  God,"  he  heard  himself  ejacu- 
lating, "my  God,  why  hast  thou  forsaken  me?"      To 
the  women  his  words  were  audible  only  as  a  more  em- 
phatic murmur,  but  he,  fearing  that  he  had  exposed 
himself,  rose  and  went  away.     To  escape  the  chance  of 
recognition  he  left  the  neighborhood  of  the  shore,  and 
betook  himself  to  an  inland  road  lined  with  scattered 
houses  and  leading  he  knew  not  where;  and  by-and-by, 
recessed  between  two  small  villas,  he  came  on  a  build- 
ing which  he  recognized  as  a  Roman  Catholic  church. 
He  turned  and  entered;  and  this  home  of  another  com- 
munion, though  that  communion  was,  according  to  his 
theories,  schismatical,  provided  him  with  a  subtle  com- 
fort which  he  might  not  have  found  so  readily  under 
the  arches  of  his  own  chancel.      It  filled  him  with  a 
sense  of  the  majesty  of  the  holy  Church  universal — of 
the  saints,  the  martyrs,  the  confessors,  the  scholars,  the 
great  philosophers,  and  all  those  whose  broken  hearts 
hold  the  spikenard  of  divine  contrition.     It  was  a  sense 
of  those  countless  myriads  who,  whether  great  or  hum- 
ble, have,  age  after  age,  and  in  all  countries  of  the  world, 
borne  witness  by  their  lives  and  deaths  to  the  faith  by 
which  he  lived  himself.     He  did  not  fight  alone.     All 
these  were  with  him;  and  he  felt  that  under  him  was  the 
support  of  the  everlasting  arms. 

402 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

He  emerged  from  the  building  strengthened  but  not 
cured  of  his  troubles.  Like  sea-sick  passengers  on  a 
ship,  who,  convinced  though  they  may  be  that  they  will 
not  lose  their  lives,  continue,  none  the  less,  to  suffer  the 
throes  of  death,  he  experienced  doubt  as  a  torment, 
though  he  did  not  experience  it  as  a  danger,  and  it  still 
made  him  sick  and  dizzy  with  its  recurring  and  subsid- 
ing spasms.  Strengthened,  however,  he  was,  and  that 
such  must  be  indeed  the  case  he  realized  by  his  own 
actions.  Instead  of  returning  to  the  company  of  his 
own  thoughts  he  went  to  his  hotel,  unpacked  Dr.  This- 
tlewood's  books,  and  resolved,  by  a  study  of  those  parts 
of  them  which  Dr.  Thistlewood  had  commended  to  his 
notice,  to  face  the  facts  of  the  situation  in  their  most 
specific  and  most  formidable  form. 

In  each  volume  Dr.  Thistlewood  had  placed  a  slip  on 
which,  together  with  the  numbers  of  certain  pages,  was 
a  note  relating  to  the  scope  of  the  volume's  contents. 

Of  Father  M.'s  psychological  treatise,  what  he  had 
written  was  this: 

"The  author  argues  throughout  from  your  own  theological 
and  philosophical  stand-point.  He  assumes  that  the  soul  is 
separate  from  its  bodily  mechanism,  and  uses  his  knowledge  of 
what  the  details  of  this  mechanism  are  for  the  purpose  of  ex- 
pressing this  separateness  in  modern  scientific  language.  You 
will  find  nothing  that  was  not  implied  in  your  sermon,  with  the 
exception  of  his  reference  to  the  case  of  the  woman  Felida. 
Felida's  is  one  of  the  classical  cases  of  what  are  called  divided 
lives.  He  takes  the  records  of  it,  and  seeks  to  show  from  these 
that  the  so-called  separate  lives  were  not  divided  in  reality." 

Of  a  second  volume,  what  he  had  written  was  this: 

"  Here  is  an  account,  given  in  minutest  detail,  of  a  young 
woman,  Miss  B.,  who  developed  in  the  course  of  her  life  four 
characters  at  least,  each  of  which  had  its  own  separate  memories 
and  had  no  knowledge  of  the  existence  of  the  three  others.  One 
of  these  characters  persisted  for  eight  years.  What  will  mainly 
interest  you  here  are  the  pages  mentioned  below,  which  will 
show  you  with  what  singular  exactness  some  of  the  incidents 

403 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

of  Miss  B.'s  divided  lives  resemble  details  known  to  you  in  con- 
nection with  Miss  Wynn  Vivian.  See  especially  the  scene  in 
which  she  mistakes  her  doctor  for  a  former  lover;  also  the 
tabulated  accounts  of  her  different  tastes  and  feelings  with  re- 
gard to  dress,  books,  amusements,  prayer,  religion,  etc.,  as  ex- 
hibited by  her  in  two  of  her  contrasted  and  mutually  hostile 
phases." 

Dr.  Thistlewood's  note  as  to  the  third  volume  was  of 
a  similarly  explanatory  kind: 

"This  is  an  account  of  Mr,  Hanna,  an  accomplished  American 
clergyman.  Mr.  Hanna  one  day  fell  on  his  head  out  of  a  pony- 
cart,  and  was  put  to  bed  unconscious.  When  he  woke  again  to 
consciousness  his  entire  past  life  was  gone  from  him,  and  a  new 
life  and  character  had  to  be  built  up  from  the  beginning.  He 
had  no  religious  feelings.  He  was  taken  to  his  own  church.  It 
woke  in  him  no  memories.  He  was  to  have  been  married.  Of 
this  fact  he  knew  nothing,  and  fixed  his  affections  presently  on 
a  new  object.  Formerly  a  teetotaller  and  an  enemy  of  all  frivo- 
lous amusements,  he  now  drank  beer  in  music-halls  and  devel- 
oped a  lively  delight  in  the  antics  of  half-nude  dancers.  See 
undermentioned  pages.  Note  specially  the  manner  in  which 
the  second  character  constructed  itself." 

Mr.  Barton  took  the  books  with  him  to  a  lonely  part  of 
the  beach,  determined  to  tear  out  the  heart  of  them 
under  Dr.  Thistlewood's  guidance.  He  not  unnaturally 
began  with  the  treatise  of  the  Roman  priest.  He  agreed 
with  Dr.  Thistlewood  that  it  would  be  needless  for  him 
to  read  the  whole  of  it,  he  could  see  at  a  glance  that 
its  reasoning  was  so  absolutely  parallel  to  his  own.  He 
accordingly  went  at  once  to  the  passage  which  dealt 
with  Felida.  When  he  had  read  it  he  laid  down  the 
book  delighted.  It  was  as  he  had  known  it  would  be. 
To  refute  the  arguments  of  the  materialists,  one  need 
but  examine  carefully  the  facts  on  which  they  profess  to 
found  them.  It  was  no  doubt  true — such  was  Father 
M.'s  admission — that  Felida's  life  did  go  through  certain 
phases,  each  of  which  might,  by  a  superficial  observer, 
be  taken  for  a  separate  life  independent  of  all  the  rest. 

404 


AN   IMMORTAL  SOUL 

This  was  the  conclusion  at  which  the  doctors  who  at- 
tended and  observed  her  leaped.  But  what  did  we 
learn  from  the  records  of  these  very  men  themselves? 
We  learn,  Father  M.  proceeded,  that,  though  certain  cir- 
cumstantial memories  were  peculiar  to  each  phase,  and 
were  not  possessed  by  her  in  the  others,  yet  all  these 
phases  alike  had  a  stock  of  memories  in  common — 
memories  of  a  general  kind,  like  a  stem  from  which  they 
all  grew.  Such  were  the  woman's  memories  of  the 
French  language  and  the  multiplication  table,  and  a 
host  of  others,  which  she  had  obviously  possessed  in 
every  phase  alike.  Here  was  a  fact  which  the  material- 
ists at  once  admitted  and  overlooked,  and  the  moment 
its  significance  was  grasped  it  was  fatal  to  their  whole 
position.  Such  cases  as  Felida's  might  be  interesting 
in  many  secondary  ways,  but  they  did  nothing — such 
was  Father  M.'s  conclusion — to  cast  any  doubt  whatever 
on  the  unity  of  the  human  soul. 

This  brilliant  piece  of  criticism,  though  it  did  not  solve 
all  his  difficulties,  encouraged  Mr.  Barton  in  the  convic- 
tion that  they  were  all  ultimately  soluble,  and  he  turned 
to  the  two  long  monographs  on  the  cases  of  Miss  B.  and 
Mr.  Hanna,  feeling  that  to  study  them  would  be  now 
almost  superfluous.  He  did,  indeed,  cast  his  eye  over 
the  passages  which  Dr.  Thistlewood  had  commended  to 
him,  and  now  and  then  sighed  when  he  realized  the 
startling  likeness  between  many  of  the  incidents  recorded 
in  connection  with  Miss  B.,  and  others  no  less  staggering, 
with  which  he  was  but  too  familiar;  but  nowhere  in  the 
passages  which  Dr.  Thistlewood  thought  so  important 
did  he  catch  the  suggestion  of  anything  like  a  new  idea. 
In  both  these  volumes,  however,  he  succeeded  in  discov- 
ering something  which  Dr.  Thistlewood  had  either  over- 
looked or  had  certainly  forborne  to  mention.  This  was 
the  fact  that  the  historians  of  Miss  B.'s  case,  and  of  Mr. 
Hanna's,  exhibited  as  to  one  point  a  most  striking  and 
unlikely  agreement.  In  defiance  of  their  own  theories, 
they  alike  systematically  assumed  that  the  subjects  of 

405 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

their  respective  studies,  however  their  lives  might  be 
disintegrated,  had  each  a  true  self  somewhere,  if  only  it 
could  be  found  and  fixed.  In  each  volume,  let  him  open 
its  pages  where  he  would,  he  came  upon  such  phrases  as 
the  "true"  or  the  "real  Mr.  Hanna,"  the  "true"  or  the 
"real  Miss  B.  ";  and,  so  far  as  his  hasty  reading  would 
enable  him  to  form  a  judgment,  the  doctors  in  each  case 
declared  that  they  had  at  last  succeeded  in  restoring 
this  self  to  its  natural  and  full  integrity.  This  significant 
fact  dawned  on  him  that  same  evening  in  his  bedroom, 
where  he  continued,  by  a  flaring  gas-jet,  the  studies  which 
he  had  begun  on  the  sands,  and  which  had  there  been 
interrupted  by  the  chill  and  the  shades  of  twilight.  At 
once  his  mind  sprang  into  new  activity.  A  host  of 
theories,  competing  for  his  final  selection,  formed  them- 
selves, by  means  of  which  faith  and  hope  might  recover 
their  intellectual  basis,  and  in  view  of  which  Dr.  Thistle- 
wood  himself,  when  he  heard  them,  would  be  obliged  to 
reconsider  his  position,  and  then  unwillingly  to  surrender 
it.  The  defeat,  indeed,  of  Dr.  Thistlewood  in  fair  and 
open  argument  would  be,  Mr.  Barton  felt,  the  best  as- 
surance for  himself  of  his  victory  over  his  own  per- 
plexities, and  he  made  arrangements,  before  going  to 
bed,  for  returning  to  Southquay  by  the  earliest  train 
next  morning. 

It  was  not  yet  eight  o'clock  when  he  entered  his  own 
door  again.  His  first  care  was  to  ask  whether  any  let- 
ters had  come  for  him.  There  might  be  one  from  Miss 
Vivian  —  such  was  his  secret  thought.  But  there  was 
not.  He  saw  on  his  desk  a  single  envelope  only,  ad- 
dressed in  a  hand  unknown  to  him — the  hand  evidently 
of  a  clerk.  He  turned  away  from  it  with  a  sigh,  and 
while  his  customary  coffee  was  preparing  he  stole  into 
his  own  church.  The  whole  atmosphere  of  this  edifice 
was  poignant  with  memories  of  Miss  Vivian  and  of  the 
prayers  and  of  that  memorable  sermon  which  had  been 
filled  and  fired  with  his  love  for  her.  The  thought  of 
her  was  mixing  itself  with  his  prayers  in  the  shadowy 

406 


AN    IMMORTAL    SOUL 

chancel  now,  when  suddenly  in  the  background  of  his 
consciousness  stirred  the  image  of  Miss  Enid  Wynn. 
Pain,  acute  though  not  hopeless,  was  once  more  gnaw- 
ing at  his  heart;  and  feeling,  when  he  rose  from  his 
knees,  that  his  troubles  were  not  ended  yet,  he  stole  on 
tiptoe  down  one  of  the  side  aisles,  as  though  fearful  of 
observation,  toward  a  small  door  of  exit.  All  at  once 
he  became  aware  of  the  presence  of  one  kneeling  figure. 
It  was  not  far  away.  With  a  rapid  movement  he  drew 
back  behind  a  neighboring  pillar,  and,  hiding  himself 
as  completely  as  possible,  he  ventured  to  look  again. 
His  first  impression  had  been  correct.  The  kneeling 
figure  was  Miss  Vivian  herself.  There  was  little  chance 
of  her  observing  him  unless  some  sound  disturbed  her. 
Her  eyes,  which  for  him  had  now  a  more  than  earthly 
beauty,  saw,  if  they  saw  anything  external,  the  chancel 
and  the  altar  only,  and  her  thoughts  were  far  away.  A 
passionate  longing  filled  Mr.  Barton's  heart  to  kneel 
down  at  her  side  and  bury  every  hateful  difficulty  in  a 
union  of  his  prayers  with  hers.  But  a  trembling  rever- 
ence, united  with  the  dictates  of  common  -  sense,  re- 
strained him,  and  only  his  unspoken  words,  unheard  by 
herself ,  went  out  to  her.  "How  could  I  doubt?  How 
could  my  faith  fail  me  ?  However  your  earthly  vest- 
ure may  at  times  disguise  and  hide  you,  I  have  seen 
the  self,  the  soul  in  you,  which  nothing  can  take 
away." 

Unnoticed,  and  moving  noiselessly,  he  gained  the  door 
and  departed,  taking  care  not  to  disturb  her  by  so  much 
as  the  clinking  of  a  latch. 

When  he  re-entered  his  library,  where  his  coffee-pot 
was  now  glistening,  he  perceived  an  object  which  had 
not  been  there  before.  During  his  absence  in  the  church 
another  letter  had  arrived  for  him.  It  was  lying  by  the 
one  which  he  had  hardly  cared  to  notice.  At  the  sight 
of  it  his  heart  palpitated.  It  was  a  letter  from  Miss 
Vivian  herself.  He  tore  it  open,  and  devoured  the  fol- 
lowing words : 

407 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

"  DEAR  MR.  BARTON, — I  have  had  no  real  conversation  with 
you  since  the  day  when  you  came  to  see  me,  and  when  you  had 
to  go  away  almost  directly  because  you  felt  so  fll.  I  don't 
count  that  time  at  Lord  Cotswold's.  Nothing  like  real  talking 
was  possible  then,  of  course,  and  everybody  was  rather  foolish 
and  everything  was  at  cross-purposes.  I  want  to  tell  you  that, 
since  then,  I  have  been  growing  to  understand  many  things — 
things  about  which  you,  and  you  only,  of  all  men,  have  ever 
spoken  to  me,  and  I  think  that  before  long  I  may  have  to  come 
and  consult  you — yes,  and  tell  you  everything,  as  I  could  do  to 
no  one  else.  But  let  me  wait  till  I  am  quite  certain  of  my  own 
inmost  self — or  at  least  as  certain  as  I  can  be  without  consult- 
ing you.  When  that  time  comes  I  will  write  to  you,  and  we  will 
arrange  a  meeting,  and  if  we  should  meet  before  then  please  not 
to  speak  about  this.  I  want  to  say  nothing  until  I  feel  that  I  am 
quite  ready  with  you.  In  matters  like  these  you  are  my  best — 
you  are  indeed  my  only  friend.  Yours,  N.  V." 

"  P.S. — Since  we  met  that  night  at  Lord  Cotswold's,  when 
we  neither  of  us,  I  think,  were  very  well,  I  have  had  nothing  in 
the  way  of  health  to  trouble  me  but  tiresome  dreams,  which 
leave  one  rather  unrefreshed  in  the  morning.  But  I  get  up  early, 
and  am  refreshed  in  other  ways.  I  hope  your  headache  is  gone." 

Mr.  Barton,  on  reading  this  letter,  experienced  the  un- 
fathomable relief  which  the  sea-sick  passenger  experi- 
ences when  his  ship  is  at  last  in  harbor.  Then  relief  was 
transfigured  and  took  the  form  of  rapture.  The  heav- 
ens were  opened  and  poured  benediction  down  on  him. 
He  sank  on  his  knees  to  receive  the  divine  influx.  He 
hid  himself  from  the  common  daylight  in  the  darkness 
of  his  clasped  hands,  and  there  in  the  darkness  God  and 
the  human  soul  he  loved  seemed  to  have  drawn  so  close 
to  him  that  he  knew  not  which  was  closest. 

Presently,  as  a  means  of  regaining  his  contact  with 
common  life,  and  assuring  himself  that  he  was  not  dream- 
ing, he  took  up  the  letter  which  he  had  thus  far  neglected. 
The  envelope  bore  the  post-mark  of  Belfast,  his  native 
place.  Except  for  an  uncle,  a  banker,  he  had  had, 
since  his  father's  death,  no  correspondent  in  the  town; 
the  uncle  wrote  but  rarely,  and  the  size  and  look  of  the 
envelope,  no  less  than  the  direction,  showed  that  this 

408 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

missive  could  hardly  have  come  from  him.  Mr.  Barton 
broke  the  seal  and  extracted  a  quarto  sheet.  It  was 
headed  by  the  name  of  a  firm  quite  strange  to  his  mem- 
ory; nor  did  he  even  realize  what  was  the  nature  of  its 
business  till  he  had  read  the  communication  through. 
When  he  had  done  this  he  found  himself  in  possession 
of  the  fact  that  his  uncle  had  died  intestate  a  few  days 
ago,  that  his  fortune  amounted  to  something  like  four 
hundred  thousand  pounds,  that  the  heir  of  this  was  his 
sole  surviving  relative,  and  that  his  sole  surviving  rela- 
tive was  the  Reverend  T.  Barton,  his  nephew. 

Mr.  Barton's  indifference  to  money  as  a  means  of 
self-indulgence  was  absolute.  Except  as  a  power  which 
enabled  him  to  serve  the  Church,  he  had  hardly  been 
conscious  of  possessing  it  till  the  prospect  of  marriage 
dawned  on  him.  Then  his  comparative  affluence  had 
acquired  a  further  meaning  for  him,  since  it  enabled  him 
to  offer  a  home  to  a  delicately  nurtured  wife;  but,  apart 
from  the  confidence  which  it  gave  him  in  the  character 
of  a  suitor,  the  idea  of  personal  affluence  formed  no 
part  of  his  consciousness.  This  condition  of  mind,  how- 
ever, had  for  the  moment,  at  all  events,  ceased  to  be  any 
longer  possible.  Affluence  had  suddenly  assumed  the 
undreamed-of  form  of  wealth,  and  a  sense  that  his  whole 
position  had  somehow  been  greatly  changed  was  forced 
on  him  no  less  sharply  than  it  would  have  been  if,  in- 
stead of  a  fortune,  what  had  come  to  him  had  been  a 
pair  of  wings.  Even  now  he  could  have  said,  with  ab- 
solute truth,  that  of  worldly  pomps  and  vanities  no 
single  image  had  arisen  to  play  any  part  in  his  agitation ; 
but,  nevertheless,  the  heir  to  very  nearly  half  a  million 
was  vaguely  aware  of  a  strength  which  had  not  been  his 
before.  But  a  strength  of  what  kind,  and  available  for 
what  purpose?  In  accordance  with  its  ruling  passions, 
his  nature  soon  gave  an  answer.  Allying  itself  with  the 
new  hopes  produced  by  Miss  Vivian's  letter,  and  also  by 
his  recent  sight  of  her,  this  sense  of  strength,  which  was 
suggested  to  him  by  the  possession  of  a  great  income, 

409 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

lost  its  primary  form  before  a  few  minutes  were  over, 
and,  transmuted  by  a  process  which  was  human  if  not 
logical,  reappeared  as  an  augmented  confidence  in  that 
whole  intellectual  position  which  he  now  was  impatient 
to  vindicate  in  a  pitched  battle  with  Dr.  Thistlewood. 
Materialism  no  longer  daunted  him.  He  defied  it  with 
a  renewed  contempt. 

In  this  mood  he  proceeded  to  write  two  letters.  Any 
one  who  had  watched  him  with  eyes  sufficiently  keen 
might  have  detected  in  his  attitude  at  his  writing-table, 
and  in  the  manner  in  which  he  held  his  pen,  an  air  of 
mastery  which  had  not  been  his  before.  One  of  his 
letters  was  to  Miss  Vivian — a  letter  tenderly  reticent, 
in  which  he  contented  himself  with  saying  that  he  would 
obey  her  wishes  in  everything.  The  other  was  to  Dr. 
Thistlewood,  and  was  couched  in  the  following  terms: 

"  DEAR  DR.  THISTLEWOOD, — I  have  acted  on  your  advice,  and 
for  two  days  I  have  been  away.  I  thank  you  for  your  books 
and  for  Dr.  Gonteau's  notes,  all  of  which  I  have  read.  I  am 
sending  them  back  by  bearer;  and  if  you  will  be  in  this  morning 
I  should  derive  much  satisfaction  from  rediscussing  the  whole 
matter  with  you.  The  bearer  will  wait  for  answer.  Yours, 

"THEOPHILUS  BARTON." 

Mr.  Barton,  who  was  rarely  at  a  loss  for  messengers, 
found  no  difficulty  in  despatching  these  letters  simul- 
taneously. Dr.  Thistlewood's  answer  reached  him  with- 
out delay.  It  said: 

"  By  all  means  come.     I  will  expect  you  by  twelve  o'clock." 


CHAPTER   VII 

MV  dear  Mr.  Barton,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  when 
his  visitor  entered,  "I  know  that  all  this  which 
you  forced  me  to  reveal  must  have  been  a  shock  to  you, 
but  allow  me  to  congratulate  you  on  the  fortitude  with 
which,  as  I  can  see,  you  are  bearing  it.  You  have  read 
the  notes  and  the  books,  you  say.  I  shall  be  interested 
to  learn  in  what  light  you  regard  the  situation  now.'* 

Mr.  Barton  had,  when  Dr.  Thistlewood  saw  him  last, 
been  a  man  cowed  and  broken,  trying  vainly  to  hide 
from  himself  the  spectacle  of  his  own  dismay.  Now  his 
manner,  though  not  free  from  anxiety,  had  in  it  some- 
thing incisive,  self-assured,  and  challenging. 

"It  would  be  idle  to  pretend,"  he  said,  with  a  magis- 
terial coldness,  "that  in  respect  of  its  personal  bearings 
Miss  Vivian's  case  gives  me  less  pain  than  you  thought 
it  would.  It  probably  gives  me  more.  So  far,  Dr. 
Thistlewood,  I  do  not  think  I  shall  have  disappointed 
you.  This  fact  I  admit,  but  I  haven't  come  here  to 
dwell  on  it.  What  I  want  to  discuss  with  you  is  not 
Miss  Vivian's  case  individually,  but  the  class  of  case  of 
which  it  forms  an  example.  I  believe  I  shall  be  able  to 
show  you,  from  the  facts  which  you  have  yourself  sub- 
mitted to  me,  that,  though  there  is  much  in  them  which 
may  surprise  any  of  us,  there  is  nothing  which  need  dis- 
turb a  Christian.  The  inferences,  in  short,  which  you 
and  your  friends  draw  from  them  seem  to  me,  if  you 
will  pardon  me  for  saying  so,  a  huge  intellectual  mare's 
nest." 

Dr.  Thistlewood  looked  at  him  with  an  odd  but  a  not 
unkindly  smile.  "Well,"  he  said,  "pray  go  on.  Let 
27  411 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

me  hear  the  whole  of  your  criticisms.  When  you  have 
finished  I  will  reply,  if  any  reply  is  possible.  Perhaps 
it  won't  be." 

Mr.  Barton  pressed  the  finger-tips  of  his  two  hands 
together,  and  began  to  speak  in  a  measured  tone  of 
authority. 

"It  would  be  arrogance  on  my  part,"  he  said,  slightly 
raising  his  eyebrows,  "to  attempt  a  complete  discussion 
of  complicated  physical  happenings.  I  shall  confine 
myself  to  broad  facts,  as  to  which  the  common-sense  of 
one  man  is,  I  submit,  as  good  as  that  of  another.  You 
shall  have  my  points  in  order.  There  are  three  of  them. 
In  the  first  place,  then,"  he  proceeded,  "you  have  your- 
self insisted,  for  my  benefit,  on  the  curious  forms  of  hallu- 
cination produced  by  very  ordinary  fevers.  Further, 
we  are  all  familiar  with  the  fact  of  madness  and  idiocy. 
The  Church  has  been  familiar  with  both  these  kinds  of 
phenomena  for  nineteen  hundred  years.  But  the  faith 
of  the  Church  has  not  been  thereby  affected.  I  should 
be  much  surprised  to  find  that  you  or  your  friends,  if 
you  were  put  to  it,  could  draw  any  essential  distinc- 
tion between  these  changes,  so-called,  of  personality  and 
those  mental  disorders  of  which  any  day  in  the  week 
you  can  find  any  number  of  examples  in  any  one  of  our 
county  asylums.  You  nod.  I  suppose  that,  in  part 
at  least,  you  agree  with  me.  Now  for  my  second  point. 
And  here  I  must  thank  you  for  your  candor,  for  you 
yourself,  in  giving  me  Father  M.'s  book,  drew  my  at- 
tention to  the  facts  I  am  about  to  mention.  Felida,  I 
gather,  is  one  of  the  classical  examples  on  which  you  and 
your  friends  rely,  when  you  try  to  explain  away  the 
oneness  of  the  human  soul.  You  know,  I  assume,  since 
the  passage  was  among  those  marked  by  you,  what 
Father  M.  says  about  this.  Father  M.  conclusively 
shows  from  the  very  facts  which  his  opponents  give  him 
that  in  Felida's  case  the  so-called  separation  of  lives  was 
a  pure  invention  on  the  part  of  those  by  whom  the  case 
was  recorded.  These  men,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  snapping 

412 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

his  fingers,  "were  in  such  a  hurry  to  grind  their  own 
materialistic  axe  that  they  had  no  time  to  see  what  was 
under  their  own  eyes.  Felida's  fundamental  memories, 
and  the  whole  substratum  of  her  personality,  were  as 
undisturbed  and  undivided  as  are  yours  and  mine  this 
morning.  Well,  you  nod  again.  It  seems  that  we  are 
getting  on.  I  suppose  that  you  follow  me  thus  far." 

"Perfectly,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood — "perfectly.  I  am 
waiting  to  hear  more." 

"The  point,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  "to  which  I  am  coming 
now — I  won't  call  it  more  conclusive  than  those  I  have 
just  touched  upon,  but  it's  conclusive — how  shall  I  put 
it? — conclusive  in  a  wider  and  more  practical  way.  In 
those  two  elaborate  monographs  on  the  cases  of  Mr. 
Hanna  and  Miss  B.  I  discovered — yes,  in  both  of  them — 
one  curious  feature  which,  since  you  did  not  mention  it 
to  me,  must  have  escaped  your  own  attention.  For  me 
it  was  far  more  significant  than  anything  in  those  pas- 
sages to  which  you  advised  me  to  confine  myself.  In 
both  these  books,  with  their  endless  weary  pages  which 
chronicle  minute  differences  between  one  so-called  self 
and  another,  I  find  constant  references  made  by  the 
respective  doctor-authors  to  the  "real  or  true  Mr. 
Hanna"  and  the  "real  or  true  Miss  B.,"  and  in  each 
case  the  doctor's  aim  was  to  find  this  self  and  to  fix  it. 
So  even  these  men,  it  seems,  the  moment  they  forget 
their  theories,  come  back  to  the  view  which  the  hum- 
blest Christian  holds  in  common  with  those  who  have 
hitherto  been  regarded  as  the  profoundest  thinkers.  It 
therefore  appears  to  me  that,  in  spite  of  all  your  science, 
the  Church  is  not  so  helpless  as  some  of  her  opponents 
fancy." 

"I  am  not  quite  certain,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  when 
Mr.  Barton  came  to  a  conclusion,  "as  to  what  is  your 
immediate  object  in  urging  your  present  arguments.  If 
you  want,  as  a  philosopher,  to  start  a  general  discussion 
of  the  relation  of  certain  facts  to  your  own  philosophy 
as  a  Christian,  or  to  the  future  fate  of  Christian  philoso- 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

phy  as  a  whole,  I  shall  be  delighted  to  meet  you  as  soon  as 
we  can  find  the  time  which  a  task  like  this  will  require 
of  us.  But  if,  as  I  gather,  your  object  is  more  precise — 
if  your  wish  is  to  provide  yourself  with  some  conclusions 
which  will  justify  the  continuance  of  your  intentions  in 
connection  with  Miss  Wynn  Vivian,  I  don't  mind  saying 
something  at  once  about  these  isolated  arguments  as 
you  give  them  to  me.  Only,  before  I  do  this,  let  me  once 
more  put  the  plain  question  to  you?  Do  you,  in  the 
face  of  all  that  you  have  lately  learned,  persist  in  your 
desire  to  make  this  young  lady  your  wife?" 

"I  most  certainly  do,"  said  Mr.  Barton.  "I  am  also 
aware  that  I  have  no  claim  on  your  valuable  time  other 
than  that  which  some  wish  to  interfere  with  such  a  mar- 
riage gives  me.  For  this  reason  I  accept  your  question 
as  a  legitimate  one.  Well,  Dr.  Thistlewood,  you  may 
rest  assured  of  this:  that  my  intentions  in  the  matter 
in  question  are  utterly  undisturbed  by  anything  you 
have  been  able  to  tell  me,  and  were  never  more  resolute 
than  they  are  at  the  present  moment." 

"In  that  case,  then,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "I  will 
do  the  best  I  can  for  you.  One  of  your  arguments,  at 
all  events,  I  can  accept  as  having  some  truth  in  it.  I 
mean  that  which  relates  to  the  fact  that  the  doctors 
from  whom  you  have  just  quoted  have  committed  them- 
selves to  the  theory  of  some  one  self  in  their  subjects 
which  was  more  real  than  their  other  selves.  This  self 
they  have  sought  to  identify  by  various  tests — such  as 
its  superior  stability,  the  physical  well-being  associated 
with  it,  or  its  power  of  absorbing  the  memories  of  the 
other  selves,  its  competitors.  Thus,  in  the  case  of  Mr. 
Hanna,  the  two  selves  were  ultimately  fused,  and  if  he 
is  still  alive  they  may  remain  so  to  the  present  day. 
Now  if  you  like  to  consult  me  about  this  practical  aspect 
of  the  question,  and  the  chances  that  what  was  done 
for  Mr.  Hanna  may  be  done  for  Miss  Vivian  likewise,  I 
will  admit  at  once  that  you  are  on  the  track  of  possibili- 
ties, and  it  will  do  you  good  to  realize  what  the  nature 

414 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

of  these  possibilities  is.  But  as  to  your  other  argu- 
ments, I  would  sooner  not  pull  them  to  pieces,  but  leave 
you  to  draw  from  them  what  satisfaction  you  can." 

"I,  on  the  contrary,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  "should  be 
very  much  more  satisfied  by  learning  here  and  now  what 
you  can  urge  against  them." 

Mr.  Barton,  as  he  spoke,  had  almost  closed  his  eyes, 
while  his  lips  were  compressed  into  a  thin,  sarcastic 
smile.  Dr.  Thistlewood's  temper  was,  as  a  rule,  imper- 
turbable, but  Mr.  Barton's  expression  provoked  him 
into  giving  an  answer  more  to  the  point  than  he  would 
have  given  willingly  otherwise. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "since  you  will  have  it  so,  let  me 
take  your  arguments  as  you  stated  them.  It  will  not 
take  me  long.  You  began  by  urging  that  these  divided 
lives,  or  selves,  are  nothing  more  than  a  peculiar  form  of 
madness.  Have  you  taken  the  trouble  to  ask  yourself 
what  madness  means  ?  What  we  all  of  us  mean  by  mad- 
ness, as  opposed  to  sanity,  is  a  state  in  which  reason,  to 
a  greater  or  less  extent,  loses  its  grasp  of  facts,  and  of  the 
actual  relations  that  subsist  between  the  individual  and 
the  surrounding  world.  But  in  the  cases  with  which  we 
are  now  dealing  such  symptoms  are  entirely  absent.  If 
Danton,  Voiron,  Fourrier,  Louise  Desmoulins  were  sane 
when  they  were  in  a  state  of  grace — and  they  most  un- 
doubtedly were  so — they  were  no  less  sane  in  their 
states  of  vice  and  crime.  Louise,  as  a  woman  of  the 
streets,  was  mentally  far  superior  to  Sister  Martha  of 
the  Five  Wounds.  Miss  Wynn  is  in  all  ways  as  sane, 
and,  in  some,  more  acute  than  Miss  Vivian.  So  much 
for  madness.  And  now,  Mr.  Barton,  for  the  famous  case 
of  Felida,  and  those  facts — those  undoubted  facts — on 
which  you  and  Father  M.  build.  These  cases  of  divided 
lives  differ  in  their  details  from  one  another,  just  as  cases 
do  of  an  injured  leg  or  arm.  Sometimes  the  limb  is  dis- 
located or  almost  severed  from  the  trunk.  At  other 
times  we  have  merely  a  simple  fracture.  Divided  lives 
exhibit  the  same  variety.  In  Felida's  case  it  is  quite 

4i5 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

true,  as  you  say,  that  the  different  selves  had  a  stock 
of  acquirements  in  common.  It  was  not  necessary  for 
each  of  them  to  teach  itself  to  walk  and  read.  But 
if  you  turn  to  the  case  of  Mr.  Hanna,  the  records  of 
which  had  not  been  published  when  Father  M.  was  con- 
cocting his  famous  argument — I'm  afraid  that  you  can't 
have  read  very  many  of  those  pages  which  I  marked  for 
you — you  will  find  that  Mr.  Hanna  exhibited  those  pre- 
cise conditions  over  the  absence  of  which  in  Felida's 
case  Father  M.  rejoices.  Mr.  Hanna's  conscious  self  had, 
in  its  two  phases,  no  common  memories,  no  common 
stock  of  acquirements.  The  mind  of  Mr.  Hanna  the 
second  began  as  an  absolute  blank.  Like  a  baby,  he 
could  not  speak.  Like  a  baby,  he  could  not  feed  him- 
self. What  is  still  more  remarkable,  he  had  no  idea  of 
space.  He  thought  the  bedclothes  were  part  of  his 
own  body.  He  only  learned  what  self,  as  opposed  to 
the  not-self,  meant  by  discovering  gradually  where  his 
powers  of  movement  ended,  and  when  he  had  learned  to 
speak,  and  intellect  had  reconstructed  itself,  his  chief 
intellectual  difficulty  was  understanding  what  was  meant 
by  God." 

Mr.  Barton  was  silent  for  a  few  moments.  His  face, 
as  he  listened,  had  betrayed  an  austere  impatience. 
"We  look  at  these  matters,"  he  said,  shrugging  his 
shoulders,  "from  such  different  points  of  view  that  dis- 
cussion seems  almost  hopeless.  A  soul  may  lose  its 
memories  as  a  balloon  may  lose  its  ballast.  But  the 
balloon  is  a  balloon  still.  It  is  not  the  sand  that 
soars." 

"Then  in  that  case,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "what  be- 
comes of  your  argument?  Just  now  you  were  urging, 
in  agreement  with  Father  M.,  that  Felida's  so-called 
many  souls  were  shown  to  have  been  really  one,  because 
some  of  the  same  sand  was  used  as  ballast  by  all  of 
them." 

Mr.  Barton  bit  his  lip.  "It's  idle  to  talk,"  he  said, 
"if  we  are  to  canter  off  on  a  metaphor.  I  should  also, 

416 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

before  I  can  discuss  what  you  can  say,  require  you  to 
give  me  details." 

"Precisely,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood.  "That's  what  I 
set  out  with  telling  you.  I  told  you  that  these  things 
couldn't  be  discussed  in  a  hurry.  Had  I  time  I  should 
ask  you  to  consider,  before  we  went  any  further,  what, 
in  a  moral  sense,  the  idea  of  self  means  for  you.  I 
should  point  out  to  you  that  self  means  for  a  Christian, 
not  the  mere  sense  of  an  ego  'bombinans  in  vacuo.'  It 
means  character — a  disposition  of  the  heart.  Otherwise 
it  means  nothing.  I  should  point  out  to  you  also  that, 
as  M.  Ribot  very  trenchantly  says,  the  distinctive  thing 
which  changes  in  these  changes  of  personality  is  pre- 
cisely this  moral  disposition,  without  which,  from  a 
Christian  point  of  view,  a  soul  or  a  self  is  no  more  than 
a  soap-bubble.  But  I  can't  do  this  in  five  minutes.  If 
we  must  quarrel,  let  us  quarrel  at  leisure.  Meanwhile, 
if  your  arguments  still  seem  to  you  satisfactory,  stick 
to  them.  Let  them  give  you  comfort,  and  let  us — you 
and  me  —  for  the  moment,  instead  of  quarrelling,  con- 
fine ourselves  to  an  aspect  of  the  matter  with  regard  to 
which  we  are  in  some  agreement.  I  mean  the  possibility 
in  the  present  case — Miss  Vivian's — of  so  strengthening 
and  developing  one  of  the  two  selves  that  it  shall  ab- 
sorb, dispossess,  or  in  any  case  permanently  abolish  the 
other." 

"Very  well  then,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  not  sorry  to  change 
his  ground,  "for  the  moment  we  will  waive  theory  and 
just  keep  to  this  practical  point.  It  is  the  point  on 
which,  rather  than  on  those  quoted  by  yourself,  I  fixed 
my  attention  when  I  looked  through  those  books  you 
lent  me.  In  the  case  of  Mr.  Hanna  there  was  admitted- 
ly a  complete  recovery.  In  the  book  about  Miss  B.  I 
noticed  that  there  were  two  chapters,  of  which  one  had 
for  its  title,  'The  Search  for  Miss  B.'s  Real  Self,'  the 
other,  'How  the  Real  Miss  B.  was  Found.'" 

"I  suppose,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "you  had  not 
time  to  examine  into  the  means  employed  by  the  doc- 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

tors  to  bring  about  these  results,  such  as  hypnotism 
sometimes  induced  with  the  aid  of  ether.  You  might 
perhaps  not  approve  of  them.  Of  this  we  can  talk 
hereafter.  You  will  be  better  pleased  by  learning  that 
reunification  has  been  sometimes  obtained  spontaneously 
— -by  an  improvement  in  the  patient's  health,  by  a  fa- 
vorable modification  of  circumstances,  and  the  develop- 
ment of  stable  and  appropriately  stimulating  interests. 
The  girl  Barnes,  who  split  up  into  ten  different  lives, 
each  with  its  own  memories,  finally  settled  down  into 
that  which  was  sixth  in  the  order  of  appearance.  She 
married,  became  a  useful  young  woman,  and  followed 
the  profession  of  a  type- writer,  her  cure  having  worked 
itself  out  altogether  unaided  by  any  artificial  treat- 
ment." 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  "this  I  do  believe  of  you — 
that  you  are  no  less  anxious  for  Miss  Vivian's  welfare 
than  I  am.  If  you  can  help  by  your  advice  to  further 
the  result  you  speak  of,  I  shall  ask  for  nothing  better. 
Let  us  get  the  result,  and  you  may  trust  me  to  put  my 
own  interpretation  on  it." 

Dr.  Thistlewood  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  looked 
contemplatively  at  his  boots.  "We  are  talking,"  he 
said,  "of  Miss  Vivian's  health  and  the  kind  of  mental 
result  we  may  look  for  from  its  continued  improvement. 
I  have  had  better  opportunities  than  you  have  had  for 
forming  an  opinion  about  that.  Since  the  evening  on 
which  she  realized  that  a  certain  romance  was  hopeless, 
and  exchanged  the  agitation  of  suspense  for  the  com- 
parative calm  of  disappointment,  her  general  condition 
has,  I  think,  much  improved.  Nothing  troubles  her  but 
the  persistence  of  vivid  dreams  which  tease  her  because 
they  seem  so  meaningless — dreams  of  inanimate  objects, 
such  as  a  railway  station,  which  seem  to  force  themselves 
meaningless  on  her  eyes,  and  which  sometimes  make  her 
sleep  a  worry  rather  than  a  rest.  At  her  aunt's  sugges- 
tion she  came  to  me  about  an  hour  before  your  own 
arrival.  I'm  sure  you  won't  regard  a  trouble  like  this  as 

418 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

serious ;  and  otherwise  I  thought  her  better  than  I  have 
done  since  my  first  acquaintance  with  her.  Still  this 
morning  she  seemed  tired — I  gather  that  she  had  been 
at  church — so  I  gave  her  something  that  would  put  her 
to  sleep  for  an  hour  or  so.  She  is  in  the  house  at  this 
moment.  In  another  five  minutes  she  will  be  awake. 
Her  aunt  will  be  here  for  luncheon,  and  is  going  to  take 
her  home  aftenvard.  I  should  suggest  that  you  stay 
and  make  your  own  observations  for  yourself." 

A  rapid  flush  spread  itself  over  Mr.  Barton's  face. 
The  image  of  Miss  Vivian  as  she  knelt  in  church  came 
back  to  him,  and  the  look  of  her  sacred  letter,  against 
which  his  heart  was  at  that  moment  beating.  He  as- 
sented to  Dr.  Thistlewood's  suggestion  with  a  coldness 
which  was  pleasure  under  a  thin  disguise.  He  began 
to  consider  whether  his  own  letter  would  have  reached 
her  before  she  started  for  the  Turkish  Castle.  He  felt 
convinced  that  it  would,  so  that  when  they  met  they 
would  understand  each  other.  Little  did  Dr.  Thistle- 
wood  dream  of  the  kind  of  knowledge  on  which  Mr. 
Barton  based  his  belief  in  the  human  soul. 

Lord  Cotswold,  as  usual,  received  him  with  gracious 
friendliness,  and  he,  too,  like  Dr.  Thistlewood,  detected 
in  the  priest's  demeanor,  subdued  and  grave  as  it  was, 
some  subtle  and  elusive  self-confidence  which  had  not 
been  there  before.  When  Lady  Sus"annah  arrived  she 
looked  at  Mr.  Barton  with  a  glance,  so  Lord  Cotswold 
noticed,  of  half-shy,  questioning  curiosity,  and  Mr.  Bar- 
ton, by  a  slight  stiffness  in  his  greeting  to  her,  seemed  to 
be  withdrawing  himself  from  the  reach  of  any  confiden- 
tial catechising.  Then  the  door  opened  again,  and  at 
last  Miss  Vivian  entered.  She  was  the  same  as  ever,  and 
yet  not  the  same.  The  soft  and  equable  self-possession 
which  had  distinguished  her  at  Lord  Cotswold's  dinner- 
party, and  had  then  given  place  to  an  artificial  frivolity, 
had  developed  itself.  It  shone  in  the  quiet  of  her  eyes 
and  expressed  itself  in  the  character  of  her  dress.  She 
was  usually  addicted  to  striking  though  always  delicate 

419 


AN    IMMORTAL    SOUL 

colors.  This  morning,  from  her  hat  to  her  shoes,  every- 
thing was  a  dove-like  gray.  Perfect  as  this  toilet  was 
from  a  dressmaker's  point  of  view,  it  seemed  to  Mr. 
Barton  to  be  a  sanctification  rather  than  an  adornment. 
Dr.  Thistlewood  watched  to  see  how  she  and  Mr.  Bar- 
ton met  each  other.  They  bowed  and  just  touched  each 
other's  hand.  Then  they  moved  apart.  Dr.  Thistle- 
wood  noted  their  distant  demeanor  with  satisfaction, 
till  he  saw  that  it  was  followed  by  a  glance  of  mutual 
understanding,  which  caused  him  to  reflect  impatiently 
on  the  incalculable  ways  of  women. 

At  luncheon  the  two  sat  opposite  to  each  other.  Dr. 
Thistlewood  watched  them  still.  The  result  of  his  ob- 
servation became,  as  time  went  on,  less  and  less  satis- 
factory and  more  and  more  perplexing  to  him.  As  for 
Mr.  Barton,  his  continued  reserve  was  remarkable.  Of 
that  glance  which  Dr.  Thistlewood  had  intercepted  he 
attempted  no  repetition.  He  rarely  even  looked  at  the 
girl,  nor  did  he  often  address  her.  Miss  Vivian's  eyes, 
on  the  contrary — so  Dr.  Thistlewood  perceived — rested 
on  Mr.  Barton,  not  indeed  in  a  way  which  would  have 
attracted  ordinary  observation,  but  nevertheless  with 
a  curiously  systematic  frequency,  and  their  expression 
was  one  which,  to  the  best  of  his  recollection,  he  had 
never  noticed  in  a  woman's  eyes  before.  It  betokened 
a  sense  of  hope  mixed  with  some  profound  repose.  To 
Dr.  Thistlewood  himself,  however,  as  well  as  to  her 
aunt  and  Lord  Cotswold,  her  manner  had  a  suave  com- 
posure which  was  always  ready  on  occasion  to  take  the 
form  of  a  fugitive  but  wholly  unforced  cheerfulness. 

"Here  is  something  going  on,"  thought  Dr.  Thistle- 
wood  to  himself,  "much  more  serious  than  I  had  antici- 
pated. This  man  has  bewitched  her.  If  I  don't  look 
out  the  fat  will  be  in  the  fire  in  no  time.  I'm  glad  to 
see,"  he  said,  turning  to  the  girl  rather  sharply,  "that 
your  nap  has  done  you  good.  I  hope  that  what  you 
call  your  morning  dreams  did  not  presume  to  molest  you 
on  the  sofa  after  mid-day." 

420 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

Miss  Vivian  laughed.  "No,"  she  said;  "I  suppose 
they  respected  the  witching  hour  of  noon." 

"May  I  ask,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  for  the  first  time 
starting  a  subject,  and  speaking  as  though  the  mat- 
ter was  one  of  purely  impersonal  interest,  "  how 
dreams  in  the  morning  differ  from  dreams  at  any  other 
time?" 

"Yes,"  said  Lord  Cotswold,  "let  us  hear  about  this. 
I've  just  been  reading  a  book  in  which  the  writer  at- 
tempts to  divide  dreams  into  classes.  What  do  you  say  ? 
Who's  there?"  This  was  addressed  to  a  servant.  "Cer- 
tainly. Lay  another  place.  Yes,  my  dear  young  lady, 
you  were  saying — or,  rather,  you  weren't  saying,  but  we 
all  want  you  to  say — what  distinction  you  would  draw 
between  dreams  yourself.  Ah — this  is  an  unexpected 
pleasure.  We  were  just  talking  about  dreams.  I  hope 
this  is  a  reality." 

Lord  Cotswold  had  risen  from  his  seat,  and  was  grasp- 
ing the  hand  of  a  lady  whose  clear,  incisive  voice  would 
have  cut  any  dream  in  two. 

"Whatever  else  I  may  be,"  said  Lady  Conway,  for 
the  new-comer  was  she,  "I  was  always  a  model  mother, 
and  I've  come  back  to  see  my  child.  At  this  moment 
she  is  lunching  on  a  patent  preparation  of  gruel,  and 
I've  fled  from  a  dish  of  mutton-chops  which  was  pre- 
pared for  my  own  consumption.  My  dear,"  she  went 
on,  turning  to  Miss  Vivian,  "what's  happened  to  you? 
One  would  have  thought  you'd  come  from  heaven  if 
your  clothes  hadn't  come  from  Paris.  Ah,  Mr.  Barton, 
I  saw  your  name  last  night  in  a  paper  which  is  not,  as 
a  rule,  much  occupied  with  clerical  news.  I  hope  that 
what  I  read  may  be  true,  and  that  the  World  may  be 
allowed  to  offer  its  very  humble  congratulations  to  the 
Church.  What!  Has  nobody  heard?  Mr.  Barton,  I 
must  reintroduce  you  as  the  deserving  successor  to  one 
of  the  largest  fortunes  in  Ireland.  We  shall  be  having 
you  for  a  bishop  soon." 

"I  did  hear,"  said  Lady  Susannah,  "though  I  didn't 
421 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

hear  any  details,  a  sort  of  rumor  about  something  of 
the  kind  last  night." 

Dr.  Thistlewood  looked  at  her.  Her  eyes,  in  their 
own  way,  were  an  object  of  study  not  less  curious  than 
Miss  Vivian's,  but  they  were  much  easier  to  read.  Dr. 
Thistlewood  read  them  like  a  book.  They  were  turned 
toward  Mr.  Barton  with  a  light  of  intimate  yet  shy  con- 
gratulation in  them,  and  Dr.  Thistlewood  knew  that  in 
the  mind  of  this  simplest  and  most  unworldly  of  women 
Mr.  Barton  had,  as  a  suitor  for  Miss  Vivian's  hand,  ac- 
quired a  desirability  and  importance  which  he  hitherto 
had  not  possessed.  Dr.  Thistlewood  smiled  a  little  grim- 
ly. Then  he  frowned.  "This  will  never  do,"  he  mut- 
tered. "Things  are  growing  worse  and  worse." 

Mr.  Barton  somewhat  relieved  him  by  courageously 
changing  the  conversation.  "We  were  talking  just 
now,"  he  said,  "about  a  subject  very  much  more  inter- 
esting. Miss  Vivian  was  telling  us  that  her  morning 
dreams  were  more  tiring  than  any  others,  and  Lord 
Cotswold  was  asking  her  how  the  two  kinds  differed." 

Miss  Vivian,  being  accordingly  pressed  to  go  on  with 
her  explanations,  did  so  with  perfect  simplicity,  though 
the  matter  in  question  was  not,  she  said,  worth  making 
a  fuss  about.  The  morning  dreams,  she  continued,  the 
peculiar  dreams  that  annoyed  her,  differed  from  other 
dreams  because  they  were  so  much  more  vivid  and  at 
the  same  time  so  much  more  stupid.  "For  instance," 
she  said,  "I  dream  sometimes  of  a  row  of  bottles,  rather 
like  Mr.  Hugo's,  only  they  are  cleaner,  and  I  can't  get 
rid  of  the  sight  of  them.  They  stay  before  me  like  a 
bright  picture.  And  sometimes  I  see,  in  the  same  tire- 
some way,  an  odd  kind  of  stone  hut,  like  a  dwarf's  hut 
in  a  fairy  story,  or  a  church-yard,  very  ill-kept  and  full 
of  absurd  monuments;  and,  worse  still,  I  am  constantly 
seeing  railway  stations,  or  rather  bits  of  them,  and  they 
have  absurd  names.  I  have  often  seen  one  called  Pog 
and  another  one  called  Kethar.  Dr.  Thistlewood  was 
so  flattering  as  to  take  my  reminiscences  down.  But 

422 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

there's  nothing  in  these  dreams  except  their  extraordi- 
nary clearness  and  a  sort  of  perverse  commonness  to 
make  them  anything  out  of  the  way.  They  make  me 
feel,  when  I  am  asleep,  as  if  a  lamp  was  being  waved  to 
and  fro  before  my  eyes." 

"My  dear,"  said  Lady  Conway,  "you  have  given  us 
a  most  brilliant  description.  If  you  could  only  teach 
me  to  see  railway  stations — not  Pog  and  Kethar,  but 
Euston  —  as  clearly  and  pertinaciously  as  you  do,  I 
might,  perhaps,  beat  the  police  and  discover  who  stole 
my  jewel-case.  Well,  and  how  is  our  Rawlin?" 

Dr.  Thistlewood  glanced  at  Miss  Vivian,  and  adroitly 
upset  his  wineglass  with  a  view  to  checking  the  intro- 
duction of  this  indiscreet  topic;  but  Lord  Cotswold  hav- 
ing risen  at  that  moment,  a  general  movement  followed 
which  rendered  this  step  superfluous. 

"Nest,"  said  Lady  Susannah,  "I  ordered  the  carriage 
early.  I  hear  that  it's  just  come.  No,  Lord  Cotswold, 
no — we  really  mustn't  wait  for  coffee.  I  have  an  en- 
gagement, and  shall  be  rather  late  as  it  is.  Nest,  my 
dear,  what's  become  of  you?" 

What  had  become  of  her  was  this :  With  a  placid  di- 
rectness of  movement,  as  soon  as  the  party  rose,  she  had 
approached  Mr.  Barton;  she  had  drawn  him  a  little 
aside,  and,  looking  up  at  him  with  an  expression 
of  earnest  confidence,  she  was  saying  to  him  some- 
thing or  other  which  was  evidently  of  deep  impor- 
tance. 

Mr.  Barton  bent  his  head  to  listen.  Then  he  inclined 
it  farther.  Otherwise  he  gave  no  sign.  Miss  Vivian 
and  he  then  parted  without  the  semblance  of  an  ordi- 
nary leave-taking. 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Barton,"  said  Lady  Conway,  when  Miss 
Vivian  and  her  aunt  had  departed,  "I  hope  I  did  not 
do  wrong  in  congratulating  you  on  your  good-fortune. 
I  was  certainly  betraying  no  secrets,  for  I  saw  the  news 
in  an  article  called  'Social  Doings  in  Ireland.'  What 
the  English  Church  wants  is  consistent  men  like  your- 

423 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

self,  who  have  the  material  means  for  giving  effect  to 
their  convictions." 

Mr.  Barton  bowed.  The  thought  expressed  by  Lady 
Conway  had  already  mixed  itself  with  his  own  special 
hopes  and  troubles. 

"Well,"  Lady  Conway  continued,  as  she  turned  round 
to  Lord  Cotswold,  "I'm  glad  that  dear  Susie  has  got  her 
Miss  Nest  back  again.  If  half  that  I've  heard  lately  of 
the  other  young  lady  is  true,  she  had  made  even  Nice  a 
good  deal  too  hot  to  hold  her." 

Dr.  Thistlewood  looked  again  at  Mr.  Barton.  He  was 
biting  his  lip,  and  for  a  moment,  but  for  a  moment  only, 
his  features  contracted  into  an  expression  of  sharp  pain. 
Then  he  recovered  his  equanimity,  and,  observing  that 
his  engagements  would  prevent  his  remaining  longer, 
made  his  adieus  with  a  courtesy  almost  stately  in  its 
grave  reserve. 

"I  may  shortly,"  he  said  to  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "be 
able  to  renew  our  conversation  with  a  fuller  knowledge 
of  the  circumstances  than  that  which  I  possess  at  pres- 
ent." 

"What,"  Dr.  Thistlewood  asked  himself,  "could  Miss 
Vivian  have  just  now  said  to  him?" 

What  Miss  Vivian  had  said  was  this:  "I  am  sure  of 
myself  now,  as  I  was  not  when  I  wrote  that  note.  I 
now  know  what  you  meant  all  along  when  you  used  to 
talk  to  me.  Try  to  come  and  see  me  to-morrow.  To- 
night I  will  write  again.  All  I  want  now  is  to  tell  you 
everything — everything. ' ' 

"Mr.  Barton,"  Lady  Conway  said  to  Lord  Cotswold, 
as  soon  as  the  priest  had  gone,  "takes  his  good-fortune 
very  much  like  a  saint  and  a  gentleman.  I'm  sure  he 
would  like,  if  he  could,  to  spend  his  thousands  on  fag- 
ots to  burn  the  people  who  are  wicked  enough  to  dis- 
agree with  him.  As  for  the  young  lady — Dr.  Gustav, 
did  you  observe  her?  I  always  told  Rawlin  that  the 
young  lady  would  go  far.  She  seems  to  have  discovered 
in  advance  on  which  side  her  bread  is  buttered." 

424 


CHAPTER   VIII 

DR.  THISTLEWOOD,  ever  since  the  beginning  of 
his  confidential  relations  with  Mr.  Barton,  had 
made  notes  of  the  priest's  demeanor  under  the  stress  of 
his  own  discoveries  and  the  revelations  which  it  had 
been  necessary  to  inflict  on  him.  That  afternoon  Dr. 
Thistlewood  made  a  further  note,  which  was  as  follows: 

"This  man  interests  me  more  and  more,  though  he  will  end 
by  driving  me  to  do  something  which  I  would,  if  possible, 
avoid. 

"He  is  a  typical  specimen  of  human  nature  as  submitted  to 
two  influences  which  rarely  affect  the  same  subject  simultane- 
ously in  such  close  connection — namely,  those  of  religious  faith 
and  intense  personal  affection,  both  reacting  on  facts  calculated 
to  destroy  both. 

"  The  heart  of  all  living  faith  is,  and  has  always  been,  an  emo- 
tional and  indefinite  perception  of  some  profound  truth,  but 
this  is  a  kind  of  truth  which,  for  the  great  mass  of  mankind,  can 
be  operative  only  when  invested  with  some  form  which  is  defi- 
nite, and  it  can  be  invested  with  such  a  form  by  means  of 
symbols  only.  Hence  all  believers  (as  we  call  them)  in  propor- 
tion to  the  practical  efficiency  with  which  the  truth  is  perceived 
by  them,  identify  the  truth  itself  with  the  symbols — namely, 
the  cosmic,  the  moral,  and  the  quasi-historical  myths — through 
which  alone  for  them  it  achieves  definiteness.  Accordingly,  if 
external  facts  which  conflict  with  these  myths  are  obtruded  on 
them,  they  feel  that  a  certainty  which  is  external  is  being  pitted 
against  a  deeper  certainty  which  is  internal,  and  this  latter  cer- 
tainty so  far  prevails  with  them  that  any  theory  is  accepted  by 
them,  no  matter  how  untenable,  by  which  admitted  facts  may 
be  deprived  of  their  hostile  significance,  or  else  may  be  so  ob- 
scured that  they  cease  to  signify  anything.  Such  is  the  case 
when  faith  alone  is  at  issue.  In  the  case  of  Mr.  B.,  we  have  a 
vehement  personal  affection  of  a  curiously  exalted  kind,  adding 

425 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

to  the  obstinacy  of  faith  another  which  is  even  more  vivacious. 
What  precisely  has  been  happening  during  this  last  day  or  two 
I  cannot  very  well  guess.  Is  it  possible  that  the  girl  has  re- 
covered her  memory  of  the  love-scene  when  she  took  him  for 
Sir  R.,  and  has  transferred  to  him  the  good- will  of  Sir  R.'s  busi- 
ness ?  To-morrow  or  next  day  I  am  prepared  to  hear  anything — 
of  mutual  passion  and  rapture  in  which  all  facts  are  forgotten. 
If  that  prove  to  be  the  case,  then  the  eyes  of  the  blind  must  be 
opened  once  again.  And  then  I  shall  be  sorry  for  her — perhaps 
even  for  him,  too." 

If  Dr.  Thistlewood  could  have  looked  into  Mr.  Bar- 
ton's heart  he  would  have  exchanged  his  state  of  con- 
jecture for  one  of  moral  certainty.  That  supreme  bless- 
edness, the  prospect  of  which,  when  first  held  out  to 
him,  Mr.  Barton  had  found  to  be  a  delusion,  and  which, 
having  raised  him  so  high,  and  having  made  a  new  man 
of  him,  had  vanished,  abasing  him  in  the  depths  of 
amazed  sorrow,  revealed  itself  to  him  now — and  sooner 
than  he  had  dared  to  hope — as  being  at  last  on  the  point 
of  turning  into  an  ineffable,  an  overwhelming  reality. 
Compared  with  his  present  expectations,  those  which 
brought  him  such  beatitude  on  his  journey  home  from 
Nice  seemed  puerile. 

Late  that  same  evening  the  expected  summons  reached 
him  to  present  himself  at  Cliff's  End.  It  came  not  from 
Miss  Vivian  herself,  but  from  her  aunt  writing  on  her 
behalf.  Here  was  solid  evidence  that  there  was  no 
more  delusion  now.  Lady  Susannah  wrote: 

"  DEAR  MR.  BARTON, — Nest  tells  me  that,  at  her  own  request, 
you  are  coming  again  to  talk  to  her.  She  wants  it  to  be  to- 
morrow. This  is  a  great  relief  to  me.  If  there  was  anything 
wrong,  I  do  hope  that  your  coming  will  make  things  right  for 
both  of  you.  I  am  glad  for  your  own  sake  to  hear  about  your 
great  inheritance.  No  one  could  know  better  than  a  person  so 
nobly  disinterested  as  yourself  how  to  use  great  wealth  wisely. 
I  hope  that  we,  as  a  family,  may  have  the  right  to  be  very 
proud  of  you.  Will  you  come  about  five  o'clock?  When  you 
come  I  will  arrange  that  you  shall  go  to  Nest's  sitting-room,  for 
in  my  own  little  nook  near  the  door  there  has  been  a  fall  of  soot, 
and  everything  will  be  covered  up  with  sheets,  as  a  prepara- 

426 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

tion  for  the  chimney-sweeps.  Don't  trouble  to  write  if  the  time 
which  I  have  named  suits  you.  Unless  we  hear  to  the  contrary 
before  twelve  to-morrow,  you  will  find  Nest  waiting  for  you." 


Mr.  Barton,  at  the  hour  appointed,  entered  the  sacred 
chamber.  His  heart  beat  tumultuously.  A  lump  rose 
in  his  throat.  When  Miss  Vivian  greeted  him  the  words 
which  he  tried  to  form  were  no  more  than  a  hoarse 
whisper.  Neither  of  them  made  any  show  of  extending 
a  hand  to  the  other,  but  looks  and  signs  were  exchanged 
in  accordance  with  which  they  seated  themselves,  a  table 
being  interposed  between  them. 

"I  thank  you  so  much  for  coming,"  Miss  Vivian  said, 
at  last.  "Will  you  let  me  begin  and  put  things  in  my 
own  way?" 

Her  voice  was  charged  with  feeling,  but,  unlike  Mr. 
Barton's,  it  was  under  her  complete  control,  and  her 
manner  was  strangely  equable,  giving  no  hint  of  nervous- 
ness. Mr.  Barton,  by  a  movement  of  his  head,  signified 
his  desire  that  she  should  proceed. 

"I  want  you,  then,"  she  began,  "to  see  me  with  a 
good  light  on  me,  as  photographers  say,  so  as  to  assure 
yourself  that  I  am  looking  well.  I  do  look  well,  don't 
you  think  so?  I  look,  don't  I,  and  I  am  talking  like  a 
person  who  is  healthy  and  wide  awake  and  has  all  her 
wits  about  her  ?  I  never  in  my  life  felt  more  matter  of 
fact  or  less  of  a  dreamer  than  I  do  at  this  moment. 
Wait  a  second.  Let  me  take  away  that  bowl  of  flowers. 
It  prevents  my  seeing  you  properly.  Well,  I  should  like 
you  to  tell  me  that  I  make  a  proper,  healthy  impression 
on  you.  I'm  not  saying  this  for  talking's  sake.  I  want 
a  genuine,  candid  answer." 

Mr.  Barton  had  no  difficulty  in  giving  her  the  assur- 
ance for  which  she  asked.  No  one  who  saw  and  listened 
to  her  could  possibly  have  done  otherwise. 

"That's  right,"  she  said,  with  a  smile  of  half-playful 
relief.  "Now  I  can  speak  with  confidence.  I  am  now 
going  to  speak  to  you  about  things  to  which  my  eyes 
as  427 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

have  been  opened  partly  by  your  aid — things  in  relation 
to  which,  as  you  yourself  once  said  to  me — it  was  that 
day,  after  luncheon,  when  we  walked  together  along  the 
cliffs — nothing  can  come  between  us." 

Her  face,  with  its  setting  of  delicately  arranged  hair, 
though  it  could  not  divest  itself  of  the  magic  of  its  lurk- 
ing piquancies,  was  so  transfigured  as  to  suggest  to  Mr. 
Barton's  mind  a  memorable  line  of  Byron's — 

"All  youth,  but  with  an  aspect  beyond  time." 

"I  want  you,"  Miss  Vivian  proceeded,  in  a  low  but 
unhesitating  tone,  "to  know  me  as  I  know  myself.  Let 
me  tell  you  something  about  my  childhood.  I  believe 
I  used  often  to  be  ill,  but  there's  much  that  I  am  con- 
fused about  and  can't  very  well  remember.  But  some 
things  stand  out  as  clearly  as  if  they  had  happened  yes- 
terday. I  mean  things  which  happened,  or  which  seem- 
ed to  happen,  sometimes  in  church  and  sometimes  in 
my  own  room.  When  I  had  said  my  prayers,  or  was 
thinking  about  them  afterward,  I  used  sometimes  to 
fancy  that  I  saw  our  Lord  standing  before  me,  and  once 
or  twice  the  Blessed  Virgin.  They  never  spoke,  but 
they  would  smile  at  me  in  a  way  that  gave  me  con- 
fidence, and  if  I  was  in  trouble  because  I  had  lost  some- 
thing, they  would  by  a  look  or  a  movement  show  me 
where  to  find  it.  Now  I  don't  think  any  longer,  what- 
ever I  may  have  thought  once,  that  these  figures  were 
what  one  would  call  realities.  I  now  have  special  rea- 
sons for  knowing  that  they  were  not.  In  one  sense  they 
were  fancies.  But  would  you  say  they  were  fancies 
which  were  merely  morbid — which  came  to  me  because 
I  was  not  well?  Or  would  you  think  it  possible  that 
they  were  signs  which  meant  that  I  was  near,  or  was 
getting  nearer,  to  what  I  seemed  to  see  so  clearly?" 

Mr.  Barton  changed  his  position.  He  turned  his  face 
away  from  her,  and  before  he  pronounced  an  answer  he 
pondered  with  contracted  brows. 

"No  doubt,"  he  said,  at  last,  "visions  of  the  kind 
428 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

you  speak  of  —  all  sound  theologians  are,  I  think,  of 
this  opinion  —  have  been  due  again  and  again  to  the 
operation  of  evil  spirits,  who  have  sought  to  betray 
the  humble  by  filling  them  with  a  false  pride.  I  feel 
convinced,  however,  from  the  way  in  which  you  speak 
of  the  matter,  that  this  could  not  have  been  so  with 
you." 

"I'm  sure,"  said  Miss  Vivian,  "that  these  things  pro- 
duced no  pride  in  myself.  But  I'll  tell  you  what  they 
did  do.  They  made  prayer  and  religion  too  little  of  a 
self-denial  and  too  much  of  a  self-indulgence." 

Mr.  Barton  smiled.  "Who  has  been  frightening  you," 
he  replied,  "with  such  ideas  as  these?  When  our  Lord 
said,  'Suffer  the  little  children  to  come  to  me,'  do  you 
think  he  meant  their  coming  to  be  painful?  Do  you 
ask  me  about  this — I  hope  that  such  may  be  the  case — 
because  you  are  finding  at  the  present  time  that  the  act 
of  prayer  is  becoming  more  easy  and  spontaneous  than 
it  once  was?" 

"Yes,"  said  Miss  Vivian,  quietly,  "that  is  more  or 
less  my  meaning."  She  stopped  abruptly,  and  both  of 
them  were  for  some  time  silent. 

At  last  Mr.  Barton  said :  "In  speaking  just  now  of  the 
visions  seen  by  you  in  your  childhood,  you  hinted  that 
at  one  time  you  perhaps  took  them  for  realities,  and 
that  you  have  recently — quite  recently,  I  so  understood 
from  your  manner — had  reasons  for  assuring  yourself 
that  they  did  not  possess  that  character.  What  touch- 
stone have  you  found  which  enables  you  to  reach  an 
opinion  of  this  very  decided  kind?" 

"That,"  said  Miss  Vivian,  "is  the  point  to  which  I 
have  been  leading  up.  I  wanted  to  feel  sure  that  you 
wouldn't  laugh  at  me  or  think  me  mad.  Mr.  Barton, 
listen.  I  know  that  those  early  visions  were  not  actual 
external  things,  because  I  have  seen,  since  then,  other 
visions  which  were  so." 

She  uttered  these  words  slowly  and  very  gravely,  but 
she  uttered  them  with  the  quiet  of  one  who,  troubled  by 

429 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

no  doubt,  finds  all  emphasis  superfluous.  Mr.  Barton 
drew  a  sharp  breath.  A  new  world  of  wonders,  for  him 
essentially  credible,  was  opening  its  abyss  before  him. 
He  did  not  speak,  but  a  look  from  him  besought  her  to 
continue. 

"  I  am  telling  you  all  this,"  she  resumed,  with  the  same 
self-possessed  solemnity,  "not  because  I  want  to  ask 
you  whether  these  things  which  I  have  lately  seen  were 
fancies.  I  know  they  were  not,  just  as  surely  as  I  know 
that  this  room  is  not  a  fancy.  I  am  telling  you  because 
I  want  you  to  stand  over  me,  or  by  my  side,  and  help  me 
along  that  way  on  which  you  have  travelled  so  far  your- 
self, and  which  now  must  be  mine  also.  And  I  come  to 
you,  not  only  because  I  have  known  your  sympathy  in 
the  past,  but  also  because  you  have  been  pointed  out  to 
me,  in  a  way  of  which  I  will  tell  you  presently,  as  the 
friend  who  will  sustain  and  help  me.  Do  you  think,  if 
I  were  not  certain  of  my  facts,  that  I  should  venture  to 
talk  like  this  to  you?" 

"Tell  me,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  in  a  low,  quivering  voice, 
as  though  he  were  in  the  presence  of  some  divine  vision 
himself,  "what  these  visions  were,  and  when,  and  in 
what  place  they  appeared  to  you?" 

"They  appeared  to  me  in  church,"  she  said,  "not  dur- 
ing any  service,  but  when  I  was  alone  there,  as  I  have 
been,  early  in  the  morning  each  of  these  last  few  days. 
I  felt  that  something  was  coming.  I  was  dimly  con- 
scious of  the  direction  in  which  I  was  being  drawn  and 
guided,  and  at  last — well,  I  can  only  say  that  this  won- 
derful thing  happened.  But,  wonderful  as  it  was,  it 
somehow  did  not  surprise  me.  It  merely  seemed  to  com- 
plete something,  like  a  rose  unfolding  from  its  bud.  I 
had  been  kneeling  in  church  for  half  an  hour  or  so,  not 
praying  exactly,  but  thinking  things  over,  and  feeling 
them — letting  them  grow  into  me.  They  were  the  sort 
of  things  of  which  your  own  book,  The  Secret  Way,  is 
full,  and  of  which  you  talked  to  me  when  we  walked  that 
afternoon  along  the  cliffs  together — the  world  beyond 

430 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

the  world,  the  star  beyond  the  star,  the  heart  of  hearts, 
the  better  country  which  the  ships  will  never  reach,  but 
to  which  they  seem  to  beckon  us.  And  then  I  opened 
my  eyes,  and  my  eyes  fixed  themselves  on  the  altar, 
and  I  thought  of  how  He,  who  is  the  heart  of  all  this  in- 
ward world,  condescends  to  come  to  us  there  in  His 
actual  bodily  form,  though  its  beauty  is  then  veiled,  and 
how  He  offers  to  those  who  seek  Him  a  refuge  from  all 
loss.  And  as  I  was  doing  this  the  chancel  became  vague, 
but  I  still  saw  the  lamp  that  hangs  in  it.  It  was  a  spot 
of  extreme  brightness.  I  remember  this  vividly.  And 
then  this  brightness  disappeared  and  gave  place  to  an- 
other, which  seemed  to  have  come  forward,  so  that  it 
was  like  a  white  cloud,  which  I  could  have  touched  had 
I  held  my  hand  out ;  and  the  next  thing  I  knew  was  that 
our  Lord  Himself  stood  before  me,  and  no  veil  hid  Him 
now.  His  form,  Mr.  Barton,  was  just  as  clear  as  yours 
is.  I  could  take  in  every  detail.  His  dress  was  white 
and  loose,  and  there  were  two  lines  bordering  it,  one 
gold  and  one  red,  like  a  piece  of  braid.  And  He  stooped 
toward  me,  and  He  just  touched  my  chin,  so  as  to  raise 
my  head  a  little,  and  make  me  look  Him  full  in  the 
eyes,  and  He  said  to  me,  'I  know  you  love  Me.  Do 
you  love  Me  well  enough  to  become  altogether  Mine  ? ' 
And  I  must  have  said  'Yes,'  though  I  don't  know  how 
I  said  it.  And  then  He  opened  His  robe  and  I  saw  his 
sacred  breast,  and  a  face  was  painted  on  it  so  perfectly 
that  it  seemed  like  a  real  face  reposing  there,  and  it  was 
yours.  And  our  Lord  said  to  me,  'Are  you  willing  to 
rest  where  he  rests?'  And  I  said  'Yes,'  as  before,  and 
He  said,  'Then  I  will  give  you  my  guidance  and  show 
you  how  this  may  be.'" 

"Go  on,"  said  Mr.  Barton.  "You  spoke  of  visions. 
Was  this  followed  by  another?" 

"Yes,"  she  replied.  "The  second  vision  came  next 
morning  in  the  same  place.  You  are  taking  me  seri- 
ously, aren't  you?  You're  not  laughing?" 

"If  I  could  laugh  at  all,"  said  Mr  Barton,  "I  should 
43 i 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

laugh  at  that  foolish  question  of  yours.  My  face  is  an 
open  book  to  you.  Read  it  for  yourself  and  see." 

For  a  certain  number  of  seconds  the  priest  and  the 
girl  looked  at  each  other.  When  a  pure  man,  to  whom 
love  first  reveals  itself  in  his  maturity,  and  who,  contrary 
to  the  habits  of  a  lifetime,  has  felt  the  unbelievable 
pressure  of  a  woman's  lips  on  his,  her  lips  can  never  be 
to  him  the  thing  that  they  were  before.  They  are  the 
rim  of  a  vessel  in  which  the  spiritual  wine  is  tendered  to 
him,  and  the  wine  will  not  quench  his  thirst  until  he  has 
touched  those  lips  again.  Spiritual  beings,  with  a  flut- 
tering of  dove-like  wings,  were,  so  it  seemed  to  Mr.  Bar- 
ton, thickening  in  the  air  around  him,  and  were  drawing 
Miss  Vivian  and  himself  together  in  the  tabernacle  of 
their  brooding  plumes.  But  his  moment  was  not  yet 
come.  It  was  coming;  but  he  even  now  must  wait 
awhile. 

"My  child,"  he  said,  lowering  his  eyelids,  "go  on,  if 
you  think  me  worthy.  I  mustn't  go  on  looking  at  you — 
I  mean  not  yet — not  yet.  Well — the  second  vision — it 
came,  and  it  gave  you  the  guidance  promised?" 

"Yes,"  said  Miss  Vivian,  "and  I  am  bringing  its  mes- 
sage to  you,  so  as  to  be  assured  that  I  have  understood 
it  rightly.  As  I  said  just  now,  this  second  vision  came 
to  me  in  the  church  also.  It  came  yesterday  morning. 
It,  too,  began  with  a  brightness  which  seemed  to  origi- 
nate in  the  neighborhood  of  the  hanging  -  lamp,  and 
which  soon  afterward  was  as  near  to  me  as  the  next  row 
of  chairs.  And  then  this  soft  cloud  went,  and  instead 
of  it  was  the  Blessed  Virgin.  And  her  dress  was  blue, 
like  the  deepest  blueness  of  the  sky,  and  her  hands  were 
white  like  lilies,  and  the  hearts  of  all  women  seemed  to 
be  melting  in  her  eyes.  And  she  said  to  me :  '  Nest  Viv- 
ian, your  heart  has  been  tried  by  the  love  of  what  you 
never  could  have  made  your  own.  It  has  been  tried 
thus,  so  that  you  might  be  drawn  toward  another  object 
which  can  be  made  your  own  entirely.  My  Son  loves 
you,  and  I  know  that  you  love  my  Son,  and  He  has  sent 

433 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

me  to  tell  you  how  you  may  be  worthy  of  His  most  close 
embrace.  If  you  would  be  worthy  of  my  Son  you  must 
do  what  by  some  of  those  nearest  to  you  will  be  ac- 
counted foolishness,  but  there  is  one  whose  head  reposes 
on  my  Son's  breast,  and  he  will  protect  and  lead  you, 
making  hard  things  easy,  and  you  and  he  shall  be  with 
my  Son  together.'" 

Mr.  Barton  bowed  his  head.  One  tense  hand  was 
pressed  against  his  closed  eyes.  The  supreme  revelation 
was,  he  felt,  to  be  made  at  last,  and  he  and  she  would 
then  be  in  each  other's  arms. 

Miss  Vivian's  voice,  previously  quite  tranquil,  had  be- 
gun to  tremble,  not  much,  but  perceptibly,  and  she  had 
paused  as  though  to  recover  her  self-possession.  "Well, 
Mr.  Barton,"  she  resumed,  "the  Blessed  Virgin  went  on 
in  this  way:  'Nest  Vivian,'  she  said,  'raise  your  eyes  to 
mine.  You  know  the  title  by  which  the  Church  calls 
me,  and  you  know  what  that  title  means.  If  you  would 
be  worthy  of  my  Son  you  must  be  and  you  must  remain 
as  I  am,  and  you  must  join  the  company  of  those — made 
sisters  by  most  sweet  vows — who  have  given  themselves 
to  the  Sacred  Heart,  and  have  no  lover  and  no  bride- 
groom except  Christ.'  And  then  she  kissed  me  on  the 
forehead  and  I  was  alone  again  in  the  empty  church, 
and  the  words  '  Sacred  Heart '  were  still  sounding  in  my 
ears,  and  I  knew  that  what  she  had  said  was  the  un- 
sealing of  my  inmost  thought.  You,  who  have  been 
given  to  me  for  my  guide,  you  must  now  help  me.  There 
is  no  need  for  haste,"  she  went  on,  with  a  smile,  "or  for 
rushing  things.  When  people  are  certain  they  can  easi- 
ly afford  to  wait ;  and  there  must  be  a  convent  which 
will  take  me,  like  that  of  which  our  Lady  spoke.  That's 
the  sort  of  thing  which  you  know,  or  which  you  will  find 
out  for  me,  and  your  judgment  shall  be  my  guide.  Ah, 
Mr.  Barton,  I  shall  no  longer  make  you  anxious  by  seem- 
ing too  fond  of  balls;  and  this,  if  you  still  care  for  me, 
will,  I  fancy,  be  a  great  relief  to  you.  Why  do  you  look 
like  that?  Your  face  seems  as  though  it  had  turned  to 

433 


AN    IMMORTAL    SOUL 

marble.  Do  you  think  that  I  have  taken  myself  in? 
Do  you  think  that  I  am  too  presumptuous?  Do  you 
think  that  our  Lord  never  appears  to  anybody?" 

Mr.  Barton  had  risen  to  his  feet.  The  fashion  of  his 
countenance,  as  she  said,  had  indeed  undergone  a  change. 
With  a  hasty  movement  of  his  hand  he  enjoined  her  not 
to  speak,  and  he  seemed  to  experience  a  difficulty  in 
finding  his  own  voice.  "  God  forbid,"  he  said,  "  that  such 
unbelief  should  be  mine.  Just  now  you  uttered  words 
of  wisdom.  There  is  no  need  for  haste.  Were  you  less 
dear  to  me  than  you  are  I  might  find  a  readier  answer. 
Nest  Vivian,  you  do  not  know  what  you  have  done. 
You  have  confronted  me  with  a  problem  so  profound 
that  as  yet  I  cannot  see  to  the  bottom  of  it.  I  must 
think  it  over  in  a  solitude  so  solitary  that  you  can  hard- 
ly imagine  the  desolation  of  it.  Before  I  go,  give  me 
some  sign  of  your  recognition  that,  if  I  am  slow  in  giving 
you  any  judgment,  it  is  for  your  sake — it  is  for  your  sake 
that  I  am  slow." 

He  stood  facing  her.  He  made  no  movement  with 
his  arms,  but  his  hands  were  opened  toward  her  in  a 
mute  and  forlorn  appeal.  It  was  an  appeal  which  took 
her  by  surprise;  but  she  divined  its  immediate  import, 
and  she  could  not  resist  it,  though  what  lay  behind  it  was 
a  riddle  to  her.  She  approached  him  frankly  and  grave- 
ly, she  made  the  gesture  for  which  he  hungered,  and  one 
hand  of  hers  gave  itself  to  each  of  his. 

"  You  don't,  then,  think  me  presumptuous  ?  And  you 
won't  desert  me  on  my  pilgrimage  ?"  She  put  the  ques- 
tions submissively,  and  yet  with  a  regained  confidence, 
her  hands  meanwhile  being  still  in  his  close  grip.  It  was 
all  he  could  do  to  restrain  himself  from  throwing  his 
arms  around  her.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  maintained 
a  rigid  though  not  a  forbidding  aloofness,  and  said  to 
her,  solemnly: 

"When  God  bestows  on  any  one  any  very  signal  favor, 
she  or  he  who  receives  it  must  not  expect  to  understand 
it  without  long  and  careful  thought.  The  Blessed  Vir- 

434 


AN    IMMORTAL    SOUL 

gin  had  to  ponder  long  herself  before  the  true  nature  of 
her  own  blessedness  dawned  on  her.  St.  Teresa  brought 
her  visions  to  her  confessor,  and  scrupulously  sought  his 
counsel,  before  she  allowed  herself  any  assurance  as  to 
what  they  really  meant.  Of  you,  then,  I  ask  that  for  a 
time  you  should  reverently  suspend  your  judgment,  and 
that  meanwhile  you  should  pray  and  meditate,  and  ex- 
amine calmly  the  very  recesses  of  your  own  heart.  And 
I,  for  my  part,  will  pray  and  meditate  likewise,  and  ex- 
amine all  sides  of  the  question.  Then,  but  not  till  then, 
my  judgment  may  venture  to  aid  yours.  When  that 
time  comes,"  he  added,  dropping  her  hand,  "may  God 
Himself  judge  between  me  and  you.  I,  my  child,  I 
have  had  my  visions  also,  and  I  have  suffered  in  them 
things  concerning  you." 


CHAPTER   IX 

"  /\  /I  ATTERS  do  not  seem  to  be  marching  as  quickly  as  I 

/  V I  had  feared  they  would.     Mr.  Barton  as  yet  has  made  no 

further  sign.     I  had,  however,  yesterday  a  line  from  Miss 

N.  V.    Whatever  has  happened,  she,  at  all  events,  seems  to  be 

fairly  satisfied,  except  for  those  morning  dreams  of  hers,  which 

still  give  her  some  trouble.     If  they  do  not  cease  soon,  she  says, 

she  would  like  to  see  me  again,  though  she  bears  them  now  much 

better  than  she  did  at  first." 

Such  was  the  entry  made  by  Dr.  Thistlewood  in  his 
note-book  three  days  after  that  intimate  and  furtive 
parting  which  had  caught  his  attention  in  the  dining- 
room  of  the  Turkish  Castle. 

When  two  days  more  had  passed  he  had  something 
further  to  record: 

"  Yesterday  afternoon,  by  appointment,  had  a  visit  from  Miss 
N.  V.  In  her  general  health  there  is  a  very  decided  improve- 
ment. She  has  been  out  with  her  aunt  calling  on  some  of  Lady 
S.'s  Southquay  friends — also  on  some  poor  people.  This  is  a 
new  practice.  I  mentioned  Sir  R.'s  name  to  her.  I  did  this  while 
I  had  occasion  to  feel  her  pulse.  The  pulse  distinctly  quickened. 
Also  there  was  a  momentary  blush.  Otherwise  she  was  abso- 
lutely tranquil.  She  once  more  described  her  dreams.  I  gave 
her  the  same  treatment,  and  with  very  interesting  results.  These 
set  down  at  length  in  note-book  256." 

Here  a  break  occurred  in  Dr.  Thistlewood's  page. 
Then  came  the  following  entry,  written  some  hours 
later: 

"  Since  writing  the  above,  have  had  at  last  another  visit  from 
Mr.  B.  He  was  certainly  not  triumphant.  On  the  other  hand, 
he  was  not  exactly  dejected.  He  has,  he  told  me,  been  im- 
mersed in  correspondence  connected  with  his  succession  to  his 

436 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

late  uncle's  property.  This  may  explain  a  good  deal,  but  it 
does  not  explain  everything.  It  explains  an  added  obstinacy 
with  which,  I  am  sure,  he  sticks  to  his  own  opinions;  but  one 
thing  it  does  not  explain — namely,  a  genuine  anxiety  which  he 
displayed,  very  different  from  his  first  hysterical  efforts  to  con- 
vince himself  by  the  process  of  annihilating  me,  that  physical 
science  has  nothing  to  do  with  souls — an  anxiety  to  learn  how 
much  or  how  little  the  vile  body  can,  in  one  way  or  another, 
perturb  the  indivisible  entity  which  condescends  to  inhabit  it. 
Indeed,  he  has  actually  made  a  suggestion  which  I  had  made 
to  him  myself  already,  and  which  then  he  seemed  to  dismiss 
as  unworthy  of  much  attention.  He  suggested  that  he  should 
come  here  when  Lord  Cotswold  and  I  were  at  leisure — he  did 
not  care  how  often — and  ascertain  what  science  has  really  got 
to  say  about  the  matters  which  are  now  troubling  him.  We 
have  arranged  everything.  Our  gentleman  is  to  dine  here  to- 
morrow. Lord  C.  knows  nothing  of  the  secret  of  Mr.  B.'s  dis- 
tress, except  the  fact  that  Mr.  B.,  having  begun  to  prepare  her 
for  confirmation,  has  discovered  that  N.  V.  was  confirmed  in 
childhood  and  had  forgotten  the  fact  through  illness.  With 
Mr.  B.'s  assent,  so  as  to  render  discussion  easier,  I  am  to  tell 
Lord  C.  that  a  case  similar  to  Miss  V.'s  has  occurred  among  Mr. 
B.'s  more  or  less  intimate  acquaintances,  and  has  caused  him 
much  perplexity." 

An  observation  is  to  be  found  in  the  memoirs  of  an 
obscure  writer  to  the  effect  that  a  sorrow  or  anxiety,  its 
cause  being  still  operative,  can  be  cured,  and  cured  only 
by  another  different  in  kind  and  more  insistent.  "My 
financial  losses,"  he  says,  "my  own  faulty  extravagance, 
and  my  terrible  inability  to  meet  my  just  obligations, 
were  a  load  on  my  back  all  day,  and  when  I  slept  they 
were  a  nightmare;  but  when,  having  loved  Margaret, 
and  believed  that  she  loved  me,  I  was  led  to  doubt 
whether  this  love  continued,  my  debts  ceased  to  exist 
for  me.  I  lived  in  this  new  pain  only.  As  for  the  others, 
I  could  hardly  so  much  as  recollect  them.  But  when  my 
doubts  of  Margaret  ended,  and  the  aching  of  my  heart 
was  eased,  the  load  of  my  debts  came  back  to  me,  and 
I  soon  found  myself  wondering  how  any  one  thus  loaded 
could  have  any  patience  for  so  idle  a  thing  as  love- 
making." 

437 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

Mr.  Barton's  experiences,  ever  since  that  memorable 
morning  when  he  had  seen  Miss  Vivian  in  church,  and 
afterward  received  her  letter,  had  offered  a  parallel  to 
the  fact  chronicled  in  this  brief  passage.  The  pressure 
of  his  intellectual  perplexity  was  expelled  altogether 
from  his  consciousness,  first  by  the  rapture,  and  then  by 
the  absorbing  pain  which  he  experienced  successively  as 
the  adoring  and  the  despairing  lover.  His  new  hopes 
had  lightened  this  pressure.  His  new  pain  had  extruded 
it  from  the  circle  of  his  conscious  being. 

This  new  pain  was  more  profound,  because  it  was 
more  concentrated,  than  that  caused  by  his  first  disap- 
pointment and  the  terrifying  revelations  attendant  on 
it,  but  it  was  more  easily  borne.  His  spiritual  fortitude, 
in  the  present  case,  was  not  weakened.  It  was,  on  the 
contrary,  stimulated  by  the  call  of  the  great  sorrow 
which  bade  it,  in  the  name  of  Christ,  to  come  forth  and 
display  itself.  Mr.  Barton  had  not  walked  with  his  Lord 
for  nothing.  He  had  felt  in  his  meditations  the  cross  on 
his  own  shoulders.  He  was  familiar  with  the  meaning 
of  the  great  word  "  Renuntio,  "  and  he  had  often  solemn- 
ly wondered  when,  if  ever,  the  supreme  summons  would 
come  to  him  to  pronounce  that  word  on  his  own  account. 
Had  that  summons  come  now  ?  And  was  this,  indeed,  to 
be  the  form  of  it,  that  he  should  tear  from  his  heart  all 
hopes  of  making  humanly  his  own  that  life  which  the 
Lord  had  committed  to  his  special  keeping?  With  an 
effort  he  placed  his  hopes  in  the  hands  of  his  divine 
Master,  and  prepared  himself  to  face  the  desert  across 
which,  it  might  well  be,  all  his  journey  would  lie  be- 
tween that  hour  and  his  last. 

Gradually,  however,  his  thoughts  began  to  take  a  dif- 
ferent turn.  Thus  far,  so  a  whisper  told  him,  he  had 
been  thinking  of  himself  only.  It  might  be  a  very  fine 
thing  for  his  own  soul — this  renunciation  of  an  earthly 
love;  but  might  it  not  mean  the  abandonment  of  Miss 
Vivian  to  a  kind  of  life  for  which  she  had  no  vocation 
and  to  which  these  visions  of  hers  had  not  really  called 

438 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

her?  And  here  a  thought  suggested  itself  to  Mr.  Bar- 
ton's mind  which,  strangely  enough,  had  thus  far  es- 
caped him.  In  desiring  to  enter  a  convent,  what  was 
the  kind  of  convent  which  Miss  Vivian  had  in  contem- 
plation? The  only  book  which  he  had  lent  her  bear- 
ing on  conventual  aspirations — namely,  The  Visions  of 
the  Saints — was  the  work  of  a  Roman  Catholic.  The 
"Sacred  Heart" — these  words  were  ominously  suggest- 
ive of  Rome.  Could  it  be  that  her  desire  was  to  quit 
the  Anglican  communion,  she  not  knowing  in  her  sim- 
plicity what  such  a  step  would  mean  ?  Here,  for  an  An- 
glican priest,  was  indeed  a  grave  question.  The  Lord 
could,  by  no  possibility,  urge  one  of  his  children  to  stray 
from  that  special  fold  in  which  He  had  Himself  placed 
her;  and  here  the  whole  problem  opened  itself  of  what 
these  visions  of  Miss  Vivian's  might  be  really  meant  to 
convey  to  her.  Round  Mr.  Barton's  head,  as  he  took 
this  problem  to  his  pillow  with  him,  her  image  hovered, 
beseeching  him  not  to  leave  her  until  no  doubt  existed 
as  to  the  things  belonging  to  her  peace. 

When  he  rose  from  his  bed  next  morning  his  eyes  had 
some  new  purpose  in  them,  and  his  breakfast  was  no 
sooner  despatched  than  he  sought  out  certain  volumes 
which  occupied  a  portion  of  his  shelves  not  often  dis- 
turbed. They  were  volumes  which  dealt  with  the  sub- 
ject of  visions,  true  and  false,  and  for  many  hours  he 
was  examining  the  treatise  of  a  Spanish  theologian  on 
the  various  tests  by  which  the  true  and  the  false  might 
be  discriminated,  and  more  especially  on  the  several 
varieties  of  the  latter,  some  of  which  were  due  to  the 
ingenuity  of  evil  spirits,  some  to  a  perverse  activity  in 
the  mind  of  the  visionary  himself,  and  which  consti- 
tuted a  danger  from  which  saints  even  were  not  exempt. 
There  was  one  section  which  he  reread  more  than  once. 
It's  title  was  "De  visionibus  quae  naturalibus  causis 
tribuendas  sunt."  He  had  just  placed  a  marker  between 
the  pages  of  this  section  when  he  started  to  pay  that 
visit  at  the  Turkish  Castle  which  resulted,  as  Dr.  Thistle- 

439 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

wood  set  down  in  his  notes,  in  Mr.  Barton's  engagement 
to  return  there  the  following  day  with  the  strange  ob- 
ject of  learning  whether  science  could  not  teach  him 
something. 

Lord  Cotswold  at  once  put  Mr.  Barton  at  his  ease  by 
expressing  the  pleasure  he  felt  in  the  prospect  of  some 
further  philosophical  discussion  with  one  whose  point 
of  view  was  in  many  ways  different  from  his  own.  "  My 
interest,"  he  added,  "though  I  must  not  say  my  pleas- 
ure, is  increased  by  learning  that  two  curious  cases, 
which  belong  to  the  region  lying  between  matter  and 
spirit,  have  been  brought  under  your  own  notice,  and 
have  provided  you  with  a  definite  reason  for  consider- 
ing what  such  cases  mean  in  relation  to  your  own  phi- 
losophy. As  to  your  young  friend,  who,  it  seems,  has 
received  already  the  sacrament  for  which  you  were  pre- 
paring her,  and  has  oddly  enough  forgotten  the  fact — 
well,  Mr.  Barton,  there  you  have  a  question  of  theology 
which  I  won't  presume  to  touch  upon.  Taken  by  itself, 
it  is  merely  an  illustration,  for  you  singularly  vivid,  of 
a  vicissitude  which  is  common  enough  in  the  career  of 
human  memory,  and  being  common  it  escapes  notice. 
But  the  other  case  —  the  duplication,  or  it  may  be  the 
triplication,  of  self  in  the  person  of  one  of  your  own  ac- 
quaintances— there  you  have  something  which  at  once 
arrests  attention.  It  obliges  you  to  puzzle  over  prob- 
lems which  would  otherwise  have  been  never  so  much 
as  imagined  by  you.  Come,  let  us  go  to  dinner." 


CHAPTER   X 

MR.  BARTON  experienced  a  very  sensible  relief  on 
perceiving  how  completely,  on  Lord  Cotswold's 
part,  any  suspicion  was  wanting  with  regard  to  the 
identity  of  the  case  which  was  to  be  the  text  of  the  im- 
pending conversation,  and  the  trio  were  accordingly  no 
sooner  seated  at  the  dinner-table  than  he  felt  it  in- 
cumbent on  him  to  begin  by  putting  the  two  others 
in  their  place. 

"In  a  general  way,"  he  said,  addressing  his  host,  "I 
am,  of  course,  sufficiently  aware  of  the  sort  of  interpreta- 
tion put  by  you  on  cases  of  this  kind,  so  I  ought  to  tell 
you  plainly,  before  we  go  any  further,  that  such  an  in- 
terpretation is  for  me — forgive  me  the  expression — an 
absurdity,  or  has  an  absurdity  at  the  root  of  it.  I  am, 
of  course,  ready  to  listen  to  whatever  you  can  say  in  de- 
fence of  it,  but  I  ought  to  make  it  clear  that  the  only 
open  question  for  myself  is  not  what  these  maladies  sig- 
nify: it  is  how  they  can  be  cured,  and  what  are  their 
precise  symptoms.  I  mean,"  he  continued,  as  Lord  Cots- 
wold  encouraged  him  to  explain  himself,  "how  far  can 
the  activity  of  the  physical  organism  mimic  the  activity 
of  the  actual  mind  or  soul?  I  cannot,  you  see,  even 
state  my  case  without  making  assumptions  which  you 
and  Dr.  Thistlewood  will  repudiate;  but  still  there  is 
a  whole  world  of  facts  which  I  admit  not  less  freely  than 
you  do.  One  soul  in  this  life  knows  another  soul  through 
the  medium  of  the  body  only.  I  admit  also  that  when 
the  soul  is  engaged  in  contemplation  or  meditation,  the 
body  plays  a  necessary  part  in  this  inward  process  like- 
wise; and  just  as  a  person  who  suffers  from  aphasia, 

441 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

which  admittedly  is  a  physical  and  not  a  mental  afflic- 
tion, fails  to  convey  his  true  thoughts  to  another,  so 
may  the  soul,  owing  to  causes  equally  physical,  fail  to 
present  true  thoughts  to  itself.  I  should  incline,  in  fact, 
to  represent  the  brain  as  a  glass,  through  which,  under 
normal  conditions,  the  soul  sees  things  as  through  a 
window,  but  which  is,  on  occasion,  so  bent  or  tilted  that 
it  acts  as  certain  mirrors  do,  used  by  conjurors  on  a 
stage,  and,  instead  of  showing  the  soul  things  really  ex- 
isting, bewilder  it  with  images  which  are  reflections  of 
its  own  ideas.  Here,  I  should  say,  we  have  the  origin — 
to  take  an  extreme  case — of  those  false  visions  which, 
as  all  theologians  admit,  even  saints  at  times  have  been 
in  danger  of  mistaking  for  true  ones.  My  own  view 
here  may  differ  from  yours  in  some  respects,  but  we  are 
both  concerned  with  the  same  order  of  facts,  and  it 
would  interest  me  much  to  learn,  as  a  practical  man, 
within  what  limits  these  hallucinations  develop  them- 
selves, and  with  what  physical  conditions  scientific  ob- 
servers connect  them.  This  is  what  I  desire  far  more 
than  a  controversy  over  first  principles;  but  still,  if  you 
would  care  to  spy  out  what  you  and  Dr.  Thistlewood 
would  regard  as  the  nakedness  of  a  priest's  soul,  so  be 
it.  I  am  at  your  disposal.  Let  us  take  first  principles 
first." 

"We  did,"  said  Lord  Cotswold,  "not  so  very  long  ago, 
have  a  little  skirmish  about  these  things,  or  at  least 
we  sounded  our  trumpets.  But  the  conditions  then 
were  unequal,  and  thus  far  they  are  so  still.  We  know 
your  position ;  you  made  it  plain  in  your  admirable  ser- 
mon. But  what  do  you  know  of  ours?  You  seem  to 
think  that  it  is  represented  by  a  modern  paraphrase  of 
Lucretius.  Let  Dr.  Gustav  and  me  put  our  heads  to- 
gether and  try  to  do  it  more  justice." 

Mr.  Barton  assented,  the  spirit  of  battle  rising  in  him. 

"Perhaps,"  he  said,  "my  words  the  other  night  may 
have  sounded  unduly  crude;  but,  if  you  come  to  the 
essence  of  things,  I  am  still  prepared  to  maintain  that 

442 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

the  materialism  of  to-day,  endlessly  elaborated  as  it  is, 
has  not  advanced,  and  is  forever  incapable  of  advancing, 
a  single  step  beyond  the  old  Lucretian  paradox.  Ex- 
press it  as  you  will,  you  have  this  assumption  at  the 
bottom  of  it:  that  life  can  and  does  result  from  a  colloca- 
tion of  lifeless  particles,  the  corollary  being  that,  since 
matter  was  before  mind,  mind  played  no  part  in  the 
process  which  was  the  condition  of  its  own  development. 
The  parent  process,  in  other  words,  was  fortuitous. 
Sense  came  out  of  nonsense.  Well,  Lord  Cotswold, 
till  you  can  induce  me  to  believe  this,  the  first  principles 
of  materialism,  whether  modern  or  otherwise,  are,  I  fear, 
outside  the  pale  of  what  for  me  is  reasonable  discussion. 
Still,  I  can  listen.  I  am  willing  to  be  a  target  for  your 
own  and  for  Dr.  Thistlewood's  arrows." 

"Mr.  Barton,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  half  laughing, 
"I  could  see  that  the  challenge  in  your  eyes,  when  you 
talked  about  fortuitous  particles,  was  especially  directed 
against  myself.  It  is  now  your  turn  to  be  patient,  and 
you  shall  have  my  general  answer.  What  you  say  about 
Lucretius  and  his  particles  is  no  doubt  true  enough.  I 
grant  you  also  that  many  modern  scientific  specialists 
have,  as  to  first  principles,  got  no  further  than  he.  For 
them,  as  for  him,  the  universes,  living  and  lifeless,  result 
from  a  concurrence  of  particles  supposed  to  have  been 
originally  independent.  But,  if  you  consider  what  sci- 
ence really  implies,  you  will  find  that  these  particles, 
which  are  vulgarly  supposed  to  be  its  starting-point,  are 
by  it,  more  vehemently  than  by  any  other  system  of 
philosophy,  repudiated  as  impossible  and,  indeed,  un- 
thinkable things.  For  science  an  independent  particle 
is  a  contradiction  of  terms.  Take  the  law  of  gravitation. 
This,  as  has  been  well  said  of  it,  means  that  every  grain 
of  ground  pepper  in  Sirius  affects  every  grain  of  salt  in 
every  salt-cellar  in  Paris.  If  science  teaches  us  any- 
thing, here  is  its  universal  lesson:  that  no  particle  has 
ever  existed  or  can  exist,  can  be  what  it  is  or  be  where 
it  is,  except  in  virtue  of  its  connection  with  every  other 
,9  443 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

particle  in  the  universe.  If  you  realize  this  you  will 
see  that  matter,  for  modern  science,  is  something  very 
different  from  a  chance  concourse  of  atoms,  each  of 
which  was  originally  a  sort  of  hermit  in  space  and 
might  possibly  again  become  so.  Each  one  of  them  is 
the  centre  of  an  endless  web  of  connections.  Apart 
from  that,  it  would  not  exist  at  all.  In  the  dance  of  a 
mote  in  a  sunbeam  is  all  the  movement  of  the  stars. 
Every  smallest  activity  of  your  brain  or  mine  is  a  move- 
ment of  the  thought  universal.  It  is  continuous  with 
and  inseparable  from  the  process  which  reddens  on  the 
robin's  breast  and  shines  in  all  the  courses  of  the  suns. 
I  don't  expect  you,"  Dr.  Thistlewood  went  on,  "to 
grasp,  in  the  interval  between  your  soup  and  your  cutlet, 
a  conception  which  is  still  unfamiliar  to  many  men  of 
science  themselves;  but  a  practised  thinker  such  as  you 
are  will  at  least  gather  from  what  I  have  said  that 
modern  science,  if  it  deduces  life  from  matter,  under- 
stands the  word  '  matter  '  in  a  sense  so  different  from 
your  own  as  not  to  be  open  to  the  criticisms  which  you 
have  just  now  sought  to  apply  to  it." 

"I  can  only,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  doggedly,  "go  by  what 
I  happen  to  read;  and  it  seems  to  me  that,  not  so  many 
years  ago,  we  had  a  great  German  scientist  address- 
ing this  allocution  to  the  world:  'The  brain  secretes 
thought  as  the  liver  secretes  bile.'  You,  Dr.  Thistle- 
wood,  may  disguise  this  doctrine  as  you  will,  but  as 
soon  as  you  wash  off  the  paint  to  this  favor  does  it 
come." 

"I  agree,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "that  this  statement 
as  it  stands  is  absurd,  but,  without  painting  it  up,  let 
us  try  the  experiment  of  completing  it.  The  brain 
secretes  thought,  but  what  has  produced  the  brain  ?  It 
is  not  for  science,  whatever  it  may  be  for  theology,  a 
little  hermit  mechanism  self-created  and  generating  its 
own  movements.  It  is  linked  by  a  chain  of  causes  to 
the  whole  past  of  the  universe,  and  if  detached  for  a 
moment  from  the  system  of  things  surrounding  it — to 

444 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

make  an  impossible  supposition — it  wouldn't  be  a  brain 
at  all." 

"I  think,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  turning  from  Dr.  Thistle- 
wood  to  Lord  Cotswold,  "that  my  opponent  is  still 
eluding  the  ultimate  crux  of  the  situation.  Until  we 
consider  what  the  nature  of  conscious  life  is,  it  may 
perhaps  be  possible  to  persuade  ourselves  that  such  life 
is  the  product  of  compound  causes;  but  I  don't  retract 
one  word  of  what  I  said  in  my  sermon — that  the  essence 
of  our  life  is  consciousness,  and  consciousness  is  es- 
sentially one  and  indivisible.  Its  centre  is  the  ego, 
which  is  the  nominative  case  of  its  verb — the  numeral 
which  alone  gives  value  to  the  series  of  ciphers  follow- 
ing it." 

"When  Sir  Rawlin  Stantor  and  I,"  said  Lord  Cots- 
wold,  "were  together  in  Persia,  we  were  induced  by  the 
atmosphere  of  the  East — and  perhaps  by  the  fact  that 
we  had  much  time  on  our  hands  —  to  study  Eastern 
philosophy,  more  especially  that  of  India.  Of  science, 
in  our  sense  of  the  word,  Indian  thought  knows  nothing; 
and  yet  Buddhism,  which  regards  the  separate  self 
not  as  a  primary  fact  but  as  the  last  illusion,  and 
Brahminism,  with  its  Great  Sentence,  are  far  more  in 
accord  with  the  European  science  of  to-day  than  are 
any  of  the  philosophies  which  have  developed  them- 
selves since  the  beginning  of  the  scientific  epoch.  If 
you  urged  your  argument  about  the  permanence  of  the 
individual  soul  on  a  Hindu,  the  Great  Sentence,  as  it  is 
called,  of  the  Vedantic  philosophy  would  be  his  answer 
to  you.  In  that  sentence  is  the  heart  of  a  philosophy 
which  is  far  older  than  the  Christian,  and  which  is  ready 
to  burn  and  blossom  out  of  the  Western  science  of  to- 
day. 'Thou  art  That.'  In  those  three  words  our  own 
science  is  summarized." 

"I  confess,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  slightly  curling  his  lip, 
and  pushing  a  cherry-stone  about  his  plate  as  though 
chastising  it  for  some  ineptitude,  "that  I  do  not  find 
this  Great  Sentence  more  than  moderately  illuminating. 

445 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

Myself,  I  should  get  more  out  of  the  two  great  com- 
mandments in  the  Gospels." 

Lord  Cotswold,  quite  unmoved  by  the  delicate  irony 
of  his  guest,  was  about  to  answer  when  the  course  of  the 
discussion  was  interrupted  by  a  letter  which  was  brought 
to  Dr.  Thistlewood,  and  which  contained — so  he  said 
when  he  had  glanced  at  it — a  request  to  attend  a  friend 
now  staying  in  Southquay,  and  suffering  from  a  com- 
plaint with  the  nature  of  which  Dr.  Thistlewood  had 
special  acquaintance.  "I  shall  be  back,"  he  said,  "in 
less  than  an  hour,  and  Mr.  Barton  will,  I  hope,  still  be 
here." 

"I,"  said  Lord  Cotswold,  "will  do  my  best  to  retain 
him.  While  you  are  away  we'll  suspend  our  present 
discussion,  and  I'll  show  him  some  of  my  plans  and 
photographs  of  early  Syrian  churches." 

Mr.  Barton  had  no  interest  in  seeing  how  absurdities 
might  be  rendered  plausible.  Spirit  for  him  was  spirit, 
and  matter,  as  such,  was  matter.  Matter,  through  its 
relation  to  spirit,  became  no  more  alive  than  a  mirror 
did  because  living  things  were  reflected  in  it.  All  he 
wanted  to  discuss — and  he  wanted  to  discuss  it,  not  with 
an  amateur  mystic,  but  with  a  doctor  of  considerable 
experience — was  the  simple  question  of  how  far  the 
mirror  on  occasion  might  mislead  the  eyes  which  looked 
in  it  by  such  and  such  false  reflections.  He  felt,  ac- 
cordingly, when  Dr.  Thistlewood  left  the  room,  that  his 
own  concern  in  the  conversation  was  for  the  time  sus- 
pended, and  he  was  presently  glad  to  avail  himself  of 
his  host's  suggestion  that  they  should,  during  Dr.  Thistle- 
wood's  absence,  turn  from  the  philosophies  of  the  East 
to  the  sanctities  of  its  Christian  architecture. 

"We  will,"  said  Lord  Cotswold,  when  a  number  of 
bulky  portfolios  had  been  brought  forth  from  their  hid- 
ing-places and  deposited  on  a  convenient  table,  "talk 
of  the  Great  Sentence  at  a  more  convenient  season. 
Now,  what  have  we  here?  Ah,  this  is  the  Templars' 
chapel  in  the  great  Castellum  Peregrinorum.  Do  you 

446 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

see  that  mountain  in  the  background?  It  was  there 
that  Elijah  brought  confusion  on  the  priests  of  Baal, 
and  saw  the  rising  of  the  cloud  no  bigger  than  a  man's 
hand.  Here  we  have  a  bit  from  Aleppo.  This  I  found 
at  Alexandretta.  Do  you  see  the  broken  columns — 
doubtless  from  some  temple  of  Venus — which  have  been 
built,  like  logs,  into  the  chancel  walls  ?  Here  we  come  to 
Famagusta.  That  wheel-shaped  window  is  finer  than 
anything  of  its  kind  in  Europe."  Mr.  Barton  took  a 
magnifying-glass  which  his  host  offered  him,  and  was 
soon  absorbed  in  an  examination  of  mouldings  and 
masonry,  the  construction  of  vaulted  roofs,  and  the 
style  and  subjects  of  frescos  obscured  by  time  or 
shadow.  His  interest  was  genuine,  and  he  permitted 
himself  slightly  to  exaggerate  it  in  order  to  avoid  the 
recrudescence  of  philosophical  or  theological  contro- 
versy. 

Thus  an  hour  and  then  another  hour  went  by.  Dr. 
Thistlewood  had  not  returned,  and  Mr.  Barton  was  be- 
ginning to  feel  that  not  all  the  chancels  of  the  Crusaders 
were  a  substitute  for  the  kind  of  information  which  Dr. 
Thistlewood  alone  could  give  him.  At  last,  having 
glanced  at  the  clock  and  expressed  a  polite  surprise  at 
the  time  having  gone  so  quickly,  he  was  about  to  make 
the  declaration,  inevitable  in  such  cases,  that  he  must 
not  allow  himself  to  keep  his  host  up  any  longer,  es- 
pecially as  there  was  no  knowing  when  Dr.  Thistlewood 
would  reappear.  "I  had  something,"  he  said,  "of  a 
special  kind  to  ask  him  relating  to  the  case  of  that 
friend  of  mine  which  we  spoke  about  at  the  beginning 
of  dinner.  But  this  must  keep  till  to-morrow.  I  can 
only  hope  that  I  haven't  trespassed  on  your  kindness 
already." 

He  had  hardly,  however,  finished  his  speech  when 
Dr.  Thistlewood  entered. 

"  I  was,"  he  said,  "  detained,  and  was  afraid  that  when 
I  got  back  I  might  find  Mr.  Barton  gone.  I  don't 
know,  Mr.  Barton,  if  you  object  to  sitting  up  late.  His 

447 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

lordship  here,  who  is  good  enough  to  follow  my  advice, 
generally  goes  to  his  bed  an  hour  or  so  before  I  do,  but 
if  you  will  come  to  my  room  we  can  have  a  little  seance 
there  by  ourselves." 

"I  trust,"  said  Lord  Cotswold  when,  in  accordance 
with  this  suggestion,  he  bade  good-night  to  his  visitor 
with  a  very  stately  politeness,  "that  you  soon  will  give 
me  the  opportunity,  not  of  changing  your  opinions  for 
you,  but  of  explaining  certain  alternatives  to  them 
which,  in  the  face  of  such  facts  as  those  with  which  you 
have  been  yourself  confronted,  will,  when  we  are  dead 
and  gone,  be  competing  with  them  for  the  world's  ac- 
ceptance." 

"Well,  Mr.  Barton,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  when  Lord 
Cotswold  had  taken  his  departure,  "shall  we  come  and 
get  to  business?" 

In  his  tone,  Mr.  Barton  noticed,  there  was  something 
of  dryness  and  command  which  had,  during  dinner, 
been  wanting  to  it.  Wondering  what  this  could  mean, 
Mr.  Barton  followed  him. 

"Now,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  closing  the  door  of  his 
study,  where  a  cloak  just  worn  by  him  was  disposed  over 
the  back  of  an  arm-chair,  "we  can  discuss  practical  ques- 
tions. Since  I  was  called  away  from  the  dinner-table  I 
have  made  a  discovery  which  will  perhaps  save  you 
trouble.  I  think  that  I  know,  without  your  telling  me, 
your  reason  for  wishing  to  inquire  into  the  kinds  of 
illusion  to  which  the  mind  is  liable  from  admittedly 
physical  causes.  Miss  Vivian  has  been  the  recipient  of 
some  new  mental  impressions  which  do  not,  in  your 
opinion,  accord  with  actual  fact.  You  wish  to  assure 
yourself  that  in  this  opinion  you  are  correct,  so  that 
you  may,  without  doubt  or  scruple,  give  her  your  ad- 
vice accordingly." 

"By  what  means,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  "you  could  have 
formed  so  strange  a  hypothesis  it  passes  my  wit  to  con- 
jecture. I  admit,  however,  that  it  is,  in  substance,  cor- 
rect." 

448 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

"Perhaps,"  Dr.  Thistlewood  continued,  "I  may  vent- 
ure to  go  even  further,  and  surmise  that  Miss  Vivian 
conceives  herself  to  have  received  some  specific  intima- 
tion the  contents  of  which,  in  your  judgment,  are  doubt- 
ful, or  even  obviously  misleading.  There  my  guessing 
power  ends.  But  tell  me  if  I  am  right  so  far." 

"  I  admit  it,"  said  Mr.  Barton.  "  You  are  certainly  an 
adept  at  inferences." 

"You  must,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "not  be  too  quick 
with  your  compliments.  In  the  pocket  of  my  cloak 
there  I  have  a  book — a  very  pretty  illustrated  book. 
Let  me  take  it  to  the  reading-lamp.  Will  you  kindly 
come  over  and  examine  it  with  me?" 

Completely  perplexed,  Mr.  Barton  did  as  he  was  re- 
quested, and  the  book  which  Dr.  Thistlewood  spread 
open  before  him  was  none  other  than  the  Visions  of  the 
Saints — his  own  present  to  Miss  Vivian. 

"You  will  wonder,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "how  I 
came  to  be  possessed  of  this.  My  answer  is  simple. 
The  patient  whom  I  have  just  been  attending  was  Miss 
Vivian  herself.  Don't  be  alarmed.  It's  only  the  old 
trouble.  She  told  me  again  about  what  she  calls  her 
morning  dreams.  This  evening  she  was  slightly  agi- 
tated, and  longed  for  a  good  night's  rest.  Before  doing 
what  I  could  for  her  I  naturally  asked  her  some  ques- 
tions, and  it  so  happened  that  she  spoke  to  me  of  two 
visions — not  dreams  in  bed,  but  figures  which  she  had 
seen  in  church.  To  these  appearances  she  has  been  at- 
taching some  peculiar  significance,  but  she  would  not 
tell  me  what.  It  is  something,  I  conjecture,  which  ex- 
cites your  own  disapproval." 

"Perhaps,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  "since  so  much  has  come 
to  your  knowledge,  I  may  without  impropriety  add  to 
it  one  further  detail.  Miss  Vivian  is  inclined  to  under- 
stand these  manifestations  as  a  command  to  her  that 
she  should  quit  the  Anglican  and  enter  the  Roman 
communion." 

"And  such  a  command,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "you, 
449 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

an  Anglican  priest,  naturally  cannot  accept  as  emanat- 
ing from  a  divine  source.  You  are,  therefore,  anxious 
to  find  for  it  some  natural  origin.  I  can  help  you.  To 
me,  as  no  doubt  to  you,  Miss  Vivian  described  both  these 
visions  in  detail.  The  first  figure  seen  by  her  was  habited 
in  a  white  robe,  ornamented  with  a  red  braid  which  had 
threads  of  gold  in  it.  The  second  wore  a  hood  and 
mantle  of  very  deep  sky-blue.  Look  now  at  these  two 
pictures  in  this  book — Visions  of  the  Saints.  There 
the  two  figures  are  exactly  as  Miss  Vivian  saw  them. 
The  first  has  a  picture  on  its  breast.  Miss  Vivian  did 
not  mention  that.  That  detail  is  too  grotesque,  perhaps, 
for  the  modern  fancy  to  assimilate ;  but  there  is  the  braid, 
there  is  the  white  robe,  and  there  is  the  Virgin  Mary, 
sky-blue  from  head  to  foot.  Here,  in  accordance  with 
your  own  very  excellent  simile,  we  have  a  glass  which  is 
normally  a  window,  playing  the  part  of  a  mirror,  and 
so  reflecting  images  in  the  patient's  memory  as  to  make 
her  mistake  them  for  external  and  supernatural  objects. 
I  could  lend  you,  if  you  like,  an  extremely  interesting 
book  which  gives  a  minute  history  of  a  number  of  sim- 
ilar visions  seen  by  Welsh  non-comformists  during  an 
epidemic  of  religious  revivalism.  These  visions — the 
Saviour  with  His  wounds  bleeding,  winged  angels  hold- 
ing tapers,  and  so  forth — visions  so  definite  that  the 
percipients  never  doubted  the  external  reality  of  them — 
were  found,  in  every  case  which  admitted  of  precise  ex- 
amination, to  be  reproductions  of  pictures  familiar  to 
the  person  in  question.  In  Miss  Vivian's  case  I  have 
discovered  something  more.  You  may  possibly  have 
heard,  without  giving  the  fact  your  attention,  that  hyp- 
notic conditions  are  producible  simply  by  fixing  the 
eyes  on  some  bright  object.  An  object  of  this  kind 
played  a  primary  part  here.  The  bright  object  here  was 
the  lamp  hanging  in  your  chancel.  Miss  Vivian,  on  each 
occasion,  before  the  vision  appeared,  had,  as  she  prob- 
ably told  you,  fixed  her  eyes  on  this.  Gradually  a  state 
supervened  of  which  her  recollection  was  vague,  and 

45° 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

out  of  this  vagueness  the  two  figures  developed  them- 
selves. I  could  tell  you  more  about  the  details  of  this 
psychological  process — which  is  probably  the  same  in 
the  case  of  all  ecstatics,  from  the  Platonists  of  Alexan- 
dria down  to  St.  Francis  and  St.  Teresa — if  such  infor- 
mation were  necessary  for  your  present  purpose.  I  in- 
cline to  suppose,  however,  that  what  I  have  just  said 
will  be  enough  for  you.  Miss  Vivian's  visions  originated 
in  certain  pictures  which  you  yourself  gave  her,  and 
these  her  brain,  under  the  influence  of  a  specific  stim- 
ulus, presented  to  her  consciousness  as  symbols  of  the 
emotions  which  at  the  time  dominated  her.  They  mean, 
therefore,  as  much  as  the  emotions  mean,  neither  more 
nor  less,  and  you  may  assure  both  yourself  and  her 
that  they  have  no  other  authority." 

Mr.  Barton  listened  with  a  feeling  of  profound  relief 
which  was  now  and  then  traversed  by  a  shudder  of  in- 
dignant pain.  It  was  evident  that  Dr.  Thistlewood  in 
the  present  case  was  substantially  right.  The  call  to  a 
celibate  life,  and  possibly  to  the  Roman  Church,  which 
to  Miss  Vivian  had  appeared  as  a  divine  command,  was 
manifestly  nothing  more  than  the  creation  of  a  disor- 
dered fancy.  But  when  Mr.  Barton  heard  the  voice  of 
the  gross  materialist  degrading  all  visions  to  conjuring 
tricks  of  the  human  brain,  he  felt  that,  in  order  to  pos- 
sess himself  of  the  facts  he  sought,  he  had  to  kneel  and 
dive  for  them  in  a  cloaca  of  reeking  falsehood.  At  all 
events,  the  liberating  fact  was  now  in  his  secure  pos- 
session. He  would  now  be  able,  with  a  conscience  ab- 
solutely clear,  to  destroy  that  gateless  wall  which,  sud- 
denly rising  in  front  of  him,  had  threatened  to  divide 
him  forever  from  the  soul  and  from  the  breast  he  loved. 

"Well,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  eying  Mr.  Barton  curi- 
ously, "  you  told  us  at  dinner  to-night  that  you  came 
to  the  Turkish  Castle  in  search  of  practical  facts,  not  of 
any  general  principles.  You  have  had  an  instalment 
of  what  you  wanted,  and  perhaps  you  had  better  go 
and  sleep  on  it.  But,  my  dear  sir,  before  you  go  I 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

have  something  more  to  add.  I  have  told  you  one  fact 
connected  with  this  young  lady's  welfare,  but  I  have 
still  to  tell  you  some  others,  and  for  her  sake,  just  as 
much  as  for  your  own,  after  what  I  have  seen  to-night, 
I  must  submit  them  to  your  close  attention.  You  would 
not  wish  Miss  Vivian  to  fall  ill  again  for  want  of  such  a 
thing  as  proper  sleep,  would  you?  If  you  want  to  see 
that  famous  real  self  of  hers  established  permanently  on 
its  proper  throne,  you  wouldn't  do  anything  to  inter- 
fere, would  you,  with  her  restoration  to  sound  physical 
health?  I  thought  not.  Well,  if  such  a  restoration  is 
to  be  achieved,  it  is  necessary,  before  all  things,  that  she 
should,  so  far  as  is  possible,  be  kept  from  anything  in 
the  nature  of  excitement  or  emotional  agitation.  And 
now,  Mr.  Barton,  listen  to  something  further  which  you 
doubtless  know  already,  but  which  you  won't  object  to 
hearing  from  the  mouth  of  another  person.  For  some 
reason  or  other — I  need  not  inquire  what — the  disturb- 
ances to  which  Miss  Vivian  is  liable  have  some  intimate 
connection  with  yourself.  Your  own  conduct  may, 
therefore,  if  not  very  carefully  controlled,  be  fraught  for 
her  with  the  gravest  dangers,  and  I  want  to-morrow 
morning,  either  here  or  at  your  own  house,  to  put  cer- 
tain details  before  you  of  which  at  present  you  know 
nothing.  Meanwhile,"  Dr.  Thistlewood  continued,  put- 
ting his  hand  in  his  pocket,  "I  have  something  to  give 
you — it  was  better,  I  thought,  to  keep  it  until  we  had 
done  our  talk — which  will  probably  be  a  fresh  proof  to 
you  of  the  truth  of  what  I  have  just  said.  Miss  Vivian 
this  evening  was,  when  we  were  left  alone  together,  too 
much  perturbed  by  something  to  be  able  to  talk  calmly 
until  she  got  it  off  her  mind  by  writing  a  few  lines  to 
you.  I  told  her  where  you  had  been  dining,  and  that 
I  should  find  you  here  when  I  got  back,  so  she  begged 
me  to  act  as  her  postman,  and  I  now  discharge  my 
duty.  You  will,  no  doubt,  prefer  to  open  her  seal  in 
private.  To-morrow,  then,  Mr.  Barton,  let  us  renew 
our  conversation  here." 

452 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

Eager  to  devour  the  letter  which  had  thus  unex- 
pectedly come  to  him,  Mr.  Barton  was  almost  effusive 
in  his  promise  to  return  next  morning,  and  hurried 
home  through  the  darkness,  taking  his  treasure  with 
him. 


CHAPTER   XI 

WHEN  Mr.  Barton,  some  ten  or  twelve  hours  later, 
was  ushered  again  into  Dr.  Thistlewood's  study, 
his  eyes  had  a  hope  in  them  which  seemed  so  assured 
and  high  that  sublunary  delays  and  obstacles  would  be 
powerless  to  disturb  its  patience.  In  Miss  Vivian's  let- 
ter of  last  night  lay  the  secret  of  this  exalted  mood. 
While  he  had  been  wearing  himself  out  in  meditation 
and  in  inquiry  relating  to  her,  she,  it  appeared,  had  been 
led  by  the  divine  hand  to  a  conclusion  identical  with  his 
own.  She  had  written: 

"I  cannot  rest  until  I  have  told  you  this:  that  you  were 
right  when  you  urged  me  to  examine  myself  very  carefully 
before  putting  any  final  interpretation  on  that  which  I  have 
seen  and  heard.  No;  I  realize  it  now.  I  am  not  meant  for 
that  special  life  to  which  it  at  first  seemed  to  me  I  was  being 
called  in  so  plain  a  way.  The  voice  of  the  Sacred  Heart  must 
speak  to  us  through  our  own  hearts.  They  must  be  its  inter- 
preters. You  know  my  heart  better  than  of  late  I  have  known 
it  myself.  I  felt  that  I  must  confess  this  before  I  could  get  to 
sleep." 

Dr.  Thistlewood  contemplated  his  visitor  with  a  sur- 
prise that  had  some  contempt  in  it. 

"Mr.  Barton,"  he  said,  "you  must  be  very  easily 
pleased.  I've  seen  many  lovers  in  my  time,  but  I  never 
saw  one  who  looked  as  happy  as  you  do  when  the  object 
of  his  affections  was  in  the  gravest  possible  danger." 

"Danger!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Barton.  "Good  God,  what 
has  happened?  Tell  me!" 

"Sit  down,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood.  "She's  in  no 
danger  of  dying.  Suspend  both  your  hopes  and  terrors, 

454 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

and  give  me  your  close  attention.  If  I  had  not  noticed 
the  expression  of  your  face  when  you  entered  I  might 
have  thought  it  necessary  to  ask  you  my  old  question 
over  again:  Are  you  still  seriously  bent  on  making  this 
young  lady  your  wife  ?  But  your  face  has  answered  me. 
Further,  I  will  spare  you  the  trouble  of  adding  something 
which  I  am  sure  you  are  longing  to  impress  on  me — I 
mean  that  the  young  lady,  after  a  series  of  vacillations,  is 
at  last  learning  to  reward  your  affection  by  returning  it, 
and  that  her  letter  of  last  night  gives  you  fresh  grounds 
for  confidence.  Let  us  assume  that  such  is  the  case, 
and  that,  if  there  were  nothing  to  check  you,  you  and 
Miss  Vivian,  before  many  months  were  over,  would  be 
standing  in  some  elegant  chancel  full  of  flowers  and 
bridesmaids,  and  receiving  the  primal  blessing  known 
to  have  been  breathed  o'er  Eden.  Well,  you  won't  have 
forgotten  what  I  said  to  you  about  Miss  Vivian  before  I 
explained  to  you  the  secret  of  her  connection  with  Miss 
Enid  Wynn.  I  told  you  as  emphatically  as  I  could  that 
she  was  not  a  fit  wife  for  anybody.  In  spite  of  what  you 
have  learned  since  then,  you  do  not  seem  to  agree  with 
me.  I,  on  the  other  hand,  am  of  the  same  opinion  still. 
I  will,  however,  for  the  moment,  modify  my  original  way 
of  putting  the  case,  and  content  myself  with  saying  that 
she  is  unfit  to  be  your  wife  at  present." 

"  Now,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  "  you  are  talking  with  per- 
fect reasonableness.  I  will  engage  that  you  find  me 
not  less  reasonable  than  yourself." 

"You  must,  then,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "make  one 
momentary  concession  to  me.  You  must  allow  me, 
without  interruption,  to  put  things  from  my  own  point 
of  view.  You,  for  your  own  part,  are  satisfied  that  the 
lady  whom  you  call  Miss  Vivian  is  the  real  soul,  or  self, 
pertaining  to  a  certain  body,  the  other  self  being  less 
real  or  not  real  at  all.  And  in  this  view  you  are  sup- 
ported by  the  language  of  the  very  men  who  have  made 
the  question  of  the  divided  self  their  study.  But  these 
men  to  whom  you  refer,  and  whose  works  I  lent  you, 

455 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

allow  themselves  to  speak,  and  sometimes  even  to  think, 
in  a  popular  manner  which  is  at  variance  with  their  own 
principles.  From  a  scientific  point  of  view,  no  one  of 
these  selves  is  more  real  or  less  real  than  any  other,  ex- 
cept in  so  far  as  it  is  mentally  more  complete,  associated 
with  a  better  state  of  health,  and  is,  above  all,  more  per- 
manent. Do  you,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  taking  from 
the  table  something  which  looked  like  a  child's  tin 
trumpet  amputated  at  both  its  ends,  "know  what  this 
object  is  ?  This  scientific  implement  is  the  work  of  Mr. 
Hugo  Arundel.  who  honored  me  by  a  commission  to 
solder  one  of  its  joints  for  him.  It  is  a  kaleidoscope, 
and  a  very  efficient  one.  It  will  show  you,  each  time  it 
is  shaken,  some  new  geometrical  pattern,  but  no  one  of 
those  patterns  is  more  real  than  any  other.  Precisely 
the  same  is  the  case  with  these  divided  lives.  They  re- 
sult when  the  organism  through  which  they  are  mani- 
fested is  unstable,  and  the  ordinary,  persistent  self,  such 
as  your  self  or  mine,  differs  from  them  because  normal 
organisms  like  our  own  possess  a  stability  which  these 
others — the  exceptions — lack.  The  persistent,  the  stable 
self  bears  to  any  one  of  these  selves  which  alternate  the 
same  relation  that  a  tesselated  pavement  bears  to  one 
of  the  patterns  in  Mr.  Hugo  Arundel' s  kaleidoscope." 

Mr.  Barton  reflected,  and  at  last  answered  with  a  frown: 
"  If  one  puts  your  implications  altogether  aside,  and 
takes  what  you  say  as  relating  to  the  surface  of  the  facts 
only — well,  in  that  limited  sense  I  don't  know  that  I  can 
disagree  with  you." 

"You  at  all  events  feel,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "that 
stability  is  so  essential  to  a  healthy  self  that  you  would 
not  wish,  if  you  married  Miss  Nest  Vivian,  to  know  that 
at  any  moment  she  might  turn  into  Miss  Enid  Wynn, 
and,  for  example,  while  she  was  standing  by  your  side 
at  the  altar,  instead  of  the  proper  response,  suddenly 
treat  you  to  those  views  of  matrimony  which  Miss  Wynn 
on  one  occasion  expounded  to  you." 

"God  forbid!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Barton,  sharply.  "You 

456 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

surely  don't  hint  that  such  an  occurrence  is  pos- 
sible?" 

"  You  might,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "  very  easily  make 
it  so.  What  I  have  just  said  I  have  said  because  I  wish 
to  warn  you,  not  because  I  wish  to  inflict  on  you  any 
speculative  opinions  of  my  own.  Perhaps  you  will  see 
now  that,  in  opposing  your  matrimonial  project,  I  have 
more  to  say  for  myself  than  you  thought  I  had,  and  I 
have  not  finished  yet  by  any  means.  Do  you  remember 
that  time  you  came  here  and  talked  about  the  case  of 
Felida,  and  insisted  on  the  fact  that  all  Felida's  selves 
sprang,  as  it  were,  from  a  soil  of  the  same  general  mem- 
ories? And  do  you  remember  how  I  pointed  out  to 
you  that,  in  Mr.  Hanna's  case,  this  feature  was  absent  ? 
What  I  said  about  this  matter  requires  a  little  more  ex- 
planation. For  you,  and  for  those  who  think  with  you, 
self  is  the  contents  of  the  conscious  circle  of  which  the 
ego  is  the  indivisible  centre.  Well,  in  this  sense,  and  in 
this  sense  only,  the  divided  selves  of  which  we  are  speak- 
ing are  really  separated  from  one  another.  They  are 
different  flowers  of  consciousness,  but  they  sprout  out 
of  the  same  unconscious  bulb." 

"Precisely."  said  Mr.  Barton.  "That's  precisely  the 
point  I  urged  on  you." 

"I  doubt,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "whether  you  knew 
precisely  what  you  urged.  At  any  rate,  we  may  take  it 
that  your  matured  view  is  this:  that  Miss  Vivian,  your 
own  soul's  counterpart,  is  for  you  the  one  true  personality 
associated  with  Miss  Vivian's  body,  and  you  wish  that 
body,  with  all  the  faculties  pertaining  to  it,  to  belong  to 
Miss  Vivian's  soul  as  your  own  body  belongs  to  yours. 
Very  well;  this  re-establishment  of  single  self  in  a  body 
for  a  time  alternately  tenanted  by  two  was  accom- 
plished in  Mr.  Hanna's  case,  as  you  very  truly  said,  and 
it  might  quite  possibly  be  accomplished  in  Miss  Vivian's 
likewise.  But  have  you  ever  thought  of  the  risk  by 
which  this  unifying  process  would  be  accomplished  ?  It 
never  seems  to  have  occurred  to  you  that  if  one  of  the 

457 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

two  personalities  succeeded  in  suppressing  the  other,  the 
one  that  came  out  victor  might  be  not  Miss  Vivian  but 
Miss  Wynn.  You  will  have  seen,  if  you  have  studied  Dr. 
Gonteau's  notes  carefully,  that  not  Miss  Vivian  but  Miss 
Wynn  was  the  first  personality  that  developed  itself.  In 
the  second  place,  Miss  Wynn's  is  the  personality  that 
has  been  most  persistent.  For  every  eight  months  of 
Miss  Wynn's  life,  Miss  Vivian  has  lived  only  five;  and 
while  Miss  Vivian's  health  has  been  and  is  precarious, 
Miss  Wynn's  has  been  exceptionally  sound.  But  that's 
not  all.  I  have  something  else  to  point  out  to  you  at 
which  I  have  not  yet  hinted.  You  remember  the  de- 
scription which  the  other  day,  at  luncheon,  Miss  Vivian 
gave  us  of  the  odd  dreams  that  had  been  troubling  her  ? 
Among  them  were  dreams  of  two  railway  stations  with 
grotesque  and  impossible  names.  One  of  these  names 
was  Pog,  she  told  us.  The  other,  as  you  may  remember, 
was  Kethar.  Perhaps  you  will  begin  to  see  light  when 
I  tell  you  that  Kethar  is  really  a  portion  of  a  name  very 
much  longer,  which  is  actually  painted  somewhere  in 
large  letters  on  a  board — this  portion  being  the  portion 
which  alone,  from  a  certain  point  of  view,  would  be  seen 
by  a  passing  traveller  between  a  book-stall  and  one  of 
the  station  buildings.  Kethar,  Mr.  Barton,  is  a  portion 
of  the  well-known  Market  Harborough.  In  the  same 
way  Pog  explains  itself  as  a  portion  of  another  name — 
the  name  of  a  station  which  you  have  doubtless  passed 
yourself.  Pog  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  the  first 
syllable  of  Poggibonsi  —  Poggibonsi  being  a  place  not 
far  from  Siena.  Miss  Vivian's  experience  of  England, 
as  you  know,  is  confined  to  Southquay.  The  very  name 
of  Market  Harborough  is  in  all  probability  strange  to  her. 
She  told  me  herself  that  she  had  never  set  foot  in  Italy. 
But  Miss  Wynn  has  stayed  near  the  first  of  these  places, 
and  has  passed  through  the  station  constantly,  and  when 
I  myself  first  set  eyes  on  her  she  was  not  far  from  the 
second.  So  you  see  that  the  materials  of  which  Miss 
Wynn  is  composed  are  lying  not  so  very  far  below  the 

458 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

surface  of  Miss  Nest  Vivian ;  and  you  need  but  give  too 
rude  a  shake  to  that  delicate  kaleidoscope  of  possibilities, 
and  the  pattern  which  you  love  will  go,  and  the  pattern 
which  you  hate  will  be  shaken  back  again.  Think  of 
what  all  this  means,  not  in  its  theological  bearings — you 
must  settle  that  matter  for  yourself — but  in  relation  to 
your  projected  marriage  when  looked  at  on  its  practical 
side.  Can  you  consider  it  fitting  that  you,  an  English 
clergyman,  should  marry,  not  knowing  what  you  marry 
— a  something  which  may  this  week  be  devoted  to  your 
Deity  and  yourself,  and  the  week  after  may  be  blasphem- 
ing the  one  and  bringing  ridicule  or  ignominy  on  the 
other  ?  Come,  Mr.  Barton,  be  a  man.  Give  this  foolish 
project  up.  Promise  me  on  your  word  of  honor  that  you 
will  cease  to  push  your  suit  and  never  utter  to  Miss 
Vivian  another  syllable  which  could  tend  to  keep  in  her 
any  affection  for  yourself.  Such  an  affection  would 
mean  misery  for  you  and  her.  If  you  won't  promise  me 
this,  I  must  do  what  I  had  rather  not  do." 

"Dr.  Thistlewood,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  haughtily,  "I 
have  listened  to  you  with  great  forbearance.  You  have 
told  me  certain  things  which  it  was  doubtless  right  that 
I  should  know,  and  for  having  told  me  these  I  thank 
you.  But  when  you  demand  a  promise  from  me  that  I 
will  not  marry  without  your  canonical  sanction;  that  I 
will  renounce  the  prospect  of  marriage — a  prospect  which 
need  not  be  immediate;  that  I  will  withdraw  or  like  a 
coward  shrink  from  renewing  my  avowals  of  that  affec- 
tion in  which  she  has  learned  to  look  for  succor — I  will 
do  nothing  of  the  kind.  Dr.  Thistlewood,  I  have  in  my 
pocket  that  letter  which  I  received  last  night.  Miss 
Vivian  in  that  letter  shows  that  she  is  as  sane  as  you  are 
— that  she  is  capable  of  calmly  reconsidering  her  own 
impulses,  and  setting  them  aside  when  she  sees  that  they 
have  been  mistaken  or  unduly  rash;  and  do  you  think 
it  likely  that  I  shall  abandon  her  because  a  peculiar 
danger  threatens  her,  from  which,  as  I  have  reason  to 
know,  my  support  would  be  her  best  protection  ?  In  all 
30  459 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

reasonable  ways  I  am  willing  to  be  guided  by  your 
advice,  but,  instead  of  allowing  her  to  suppose  that 
I  retract  the  devotion  I  have  offered  her,  I  shall 
do  all  in  my  power  to  assure  her  that  it  is  hers  for- 
ever." 

"You  are,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "a  very  obstinate 
man,  but  before  I  exchange  the  method  of  moral  suasion 
for  another  I  will  make  one  further  appeal  addressed 
to  your  common-sense.  The  lady,  or  the  body  of  the 
lady,  whom  you  propose  to  marry  has  received  already 
three  of  the  Christian  sacraments — baptism,  confirma- 
tion, and  the  eucharist.  The  child  by  whom  these  sacra- 
ments were  received  was  a  child  of  whose  life,  of  whose 
beliefs,  and  even  of  whose  existence,  Miss  Vivian  knows 
nothing.  If  Miss  Vivian  became  your  wife,  would  not 
you,  as  a  clergyman,  feel  some  difficulty  in  determining 
her  relation  to  these  means  of  grace?  I  can  hardly 
venture  to  hope  that  considerations  of  this  kind,  though 
they  go  to  the  root  of  your  beliefs  as  to  souls  and  sacra- 
ments, will  deflect  you  from  your  present  purpose.  Still, 
there  is  no  knowing,  and  I  thought  it  worth  while  to 
mention  them." 

"I  confess,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  calmly,  "for  I  am  not 
afraid  of  being  candid,  that  these  difficulties  were  felt 
very  keenly  by  myself,  but  on  reflection  they  have  van- 
ished. I  regard  them  as  being  solved  sufficiently  by  a 
curiously  pertinent  analogy.  The  grace  conferred  by 
infant  baptism  is,  as  we  all  know,  conferred  on  a  being 
which  is  unable  to  understand  or  profit  by  it.  It  lies 
dormant,  or  germinates,  as  it  were,  in  the  child's  system, 
its  results  being  not  apparent  for  a  period  of  some  years. 
In  special  cases,  such  as  that  of  Miss  Vivian,  the  grace 
conferred  by  confirmation  may  well  operate  in  the  same 
way." 

"Your  theory,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "is  also,  I  sup- 
pose, a  vindication  of  the  substantial  identity  of  the 
two  selves  in  question,  superficial  appearances  notwith- 
standing?" 

460 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

"Undoubtedly,"  said  Mr.  Barton.  "That  I  assume  in 
any  case." 

"Very  well  then,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood;  "we  shall, 
perhaps,  come  to  an  understanding.  Your  assumption 
shall,  for  argument's  sake,  be  mine,  and  from  this  point 
onward  I  shall  confine  myself  to  bare  facts.  Miss  Wynn 
Vivian — or  whatever  we  like  to  call  her — received,  dur- 
ing that  unregenerate  girlhood  of  which  Miss  Vivian 
knows  nothing,  three  of  the  sacraments  of  your  Church. 
The  number  was  three,  wasn't  it?" 

Mr.  Barton  assented. 

"Well,"  Dr.  Thistlewood  continued,  "it  is  now  my 
duty  to  tell  you  that  her  experiences  in  this  way  have 
been  more  extensive  than  you  suppose.  Miss  Enid  Wynn, 
of  whose  life  your  prospective  bride  knows  nothing,  has 
not  been  content  with  three  sacraments.  She  has  en- 
joyed the  advantage  of  a  fourth ;  and  that,  Mr.  Barton, 
happens  to  be  the  sacrament  of  marriage.  Miss  Enid 
Wynn  has  a  husband — yes,  a  husband  who  is  alive,  and 
who  not  so  long  ago  was  alive  and  kicking  in  Southquay." 

Mr.  Barton,  with  a  violent  movement,  pushed  him- 
self back  in  his  chair.  His  mouth  gaped,  and  for  a 
second  or  two  it  remained  open. 

"Let  me,"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "tell  you  the  whole 
story.  If  you  care,  at  your  leisure,  to  examine  Dr.  Gon- 
teau's  notes  again,  you  will  see  how  one  thing  fits  in 
with  another.  A  rough  outline  of  the  events  is  all  that 
I  need  give  you  now.  I  first  encountered  Miss  Wynn 
in  the  train  between  Florence  and  Siena.  There  was  in 
my  compartment,  when  I  started,  one  other  traveller 
only — an  overdressed  man  with  large,  protruding  eyes. 
I  heard  him  speaking  Italian,  but  I  took  no  particular 
notice  of  him.  By-and-by,  at  a  side  station,  a  third 
traveller  joined  us — a  girl,  evidently  a  lady,  whose  in- 
dependent demeanor  and  somewhat  masculine  dress 
caught  my  attention  and  made  me  wonder  who  she 
was.  I  had,  however,  ceased  to  think  of  her  when  some 
rearrangement  of  rugs,  bags,  and  umbrellas  began  to 

461 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

be  made  jointly  by  the  other  traveller  and  herself,  and 
I  realized  that  the  two  were  in  the  act  of  starting  an 
acquaintance.  They  first  spoke  in  Italian.  Ultimately 
they  took  to  English.  The  obvious  good-breeding  of  the 
girl  and  the  obvious  under-breeding  of  the  man  made 
me  wonder  at  the  readiness  with  which  she  met  his  ad- 
vances. Two  days  later  I  came  upon  this  same  couple 
sauntering  with  a  tender  leisureliness  in  the  public  gar- 
dens of  Siena.  The  moment  I  saw  Miss  Vivian  I  was 
struck  by  an  odd  likeness  between  her  and  this  heroine 
of  Siena;  but  differences  of  dress,  voice,  manner,  de- 
portment, and  facial  expression  rendered  the  likeness 
less  remarkable  than  the  contrast.  My  second  encounter 
with  Miss  Wynn  was  at  a  small  hotel  in  the  Hebrides, 
where  I  stayed  a  night  on  my  way  to  a  friend's  shooting- 
lodge.  She  had  no  recollection  of  having  ever  seen  me 
before.  She  was  by  way  of  being  with  some  people 
who  had  taken  a  forest  in  Ross-shire,  but  she  was  evi- 
dently quite  independent  of  them,  and  had  come  to  this 
place — so  she  told  me — for  fishing.  Her  name  in  the 
visitors'  book  was  entered  as  Mrs.  Jordan.  No  Mr.  Jor- 
dan was  visible  that  evening,  but  the  following  day  he 
arrived — arrived  in  the  primitive  wagonette  which  was 
to  take  me  to  my  own  destination.  You  may  imagine 
my  surprise  when  I  recognized  him  as  the  gentleman 
who  had  enlivened  Miss  Wynn's  residence  at  Siena.  I 
am  not  much  given  to  gossip,  but  the  driver  of  my 
wagonette  was.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jordan,  it  appeared,  had 
been  staying  under  different  roofs  for  some  weeks  in 
the  neighborhood,  and  had  lately  been  married  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  requirements  of  the  Scottish  law.  To 
this  information  the  driver  added  a  remark  which  I  did 
not  catch  at  the  time,  but  I  realized  its  purport  after- 
ward. Returning  a  month  or  so  later  from  my  friend's 
remote  house,  and  happening  to  stay  again  at  the  same 
hotel  for  a  night  or  so,  I  learned  from  the  local  doctor, 
with  whom  I  forgathered  over  a  glass  of  whiskey,  that  a 
lady — a  stranger  who  had  only  just  been  married — had, 

462 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

under  his  auspices,  given  birth  to  a  child;  that  the  child 
had  been  promptly  committed  to  the  care  of  a  crofter's 
family,  had  died  in  a  day  or  two,  and  been  buried ;  that 
the  parents  had  attended  the  funeral,  that  the  mother 
had  been  heard  to  remark,  'This  sort  of  thing  sha'n't 
happen  again,'  and  that  father  and  mother  had  disap- 
peared by  different  steamers.  Well,  Mr.  Barton,  to 
make  a  long  story  short,  I  have  discovered  that  this 
man  Jordan,  whose  father's  home  is  in  Glasgow,  and 
whose  mother  was  a  native  of  Turin,  had  once  been  a 
courier,  and  I  know  not  what  besides ;  but  of  late  years 
he  has,  being  a  good  linguist,  travelled  in  Italy  and  else- 
where in  Europe  for  a  Glasgow  firm  which  manufactures 
a  cheap  fuel  from  peat.  What  his  relations  with  Miss 
Wynn  were  at  Siena  I  must  leave  you  to  guess.  Any- 
how, he  saw  reason  to  believe  that  she  had  or  that  she 
would  have  money,  and  his  marriage  to  her  in  a  country 
where  marriage  is  exceptionally  easy,  and  with  whose 
laws  he  was  familiar,  was  the  result.  His  wife,  however 
— for  she  told  me  this  herself — took  a  very  inadequate 
view  of  the  validity  of  a  Scotch  marriage,  regarding  it 
merely  as  a  means  of  getting  herself  out  of  an  awkward 
scrape.  It  was,  in  any  case,  for  the  time  to  be  kept  a 
secret.  The  wife  was  to  rejoin  her  friends  as  if  nothing 
had  happened,  and  when  she  rejoined  them  the  process 
of  regret  began.  Certain  papers,  which  unintentionally 
this  gentleman  had  left  in  her  hands,  revealed  to  her  the 
fact  that  he  had  been  guilty  of  business  irregularities 
which  would,  if  brought  to  light,  consign  him  to  penal 
servitude,  and  with  this  knowledge  at  her  disposal  she 
was  confident  that  she  could  keep  him  at  a  distance. 
He,  for  his  part,  was  not  too  anxious  to  obtrude  himself 
till  some  doubts  which  had  arisen  in  his  mind  with  re- 
gard to  her  fortune  had  been  elucidated ;  and  meanwhile, 
as  you  will  see  from  Dr.  Gonteau's  notes,  those  events 
took  place  in  the  neighborhood  of  Market  Harborough, 
or  Kethar,  which  removed  her  for  the  time  from  her  hus- 
band's ken  altogether  by  transforming  her  into  the  angel 

463 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

whom  you  propose  to  marry  yourself.  Mr.  Jordan,  who 
was  not  without  his  plausibilities,  might,  having  thought 
things  over,  not  have  been  inconsolable  if  he  had  not, 
in  the  course  of  a  holiday,  happened  to  visit  Southquay. 
There,  having  improved  himself  into  Count  Giordano,  he 
was  doubtless  looking  out  for  a  fortune  which  was  not 
a  speculation  but  a  certainty.  There,  however,  at  a 
ball,  he  happened  to  catch  sight  of  Miss  Vivian.  Her 
likeness  to  his  wife  struck  him  at  once  so  forcibly  that 
he  made,  through  Colonel  O'Brian,  such  inquiries  as  he 
could  as  to  her  family.  What  he  heard  convinced  him 
at  first  that  the  likeness  which  had  struck  him  was  ac- 
cidental. He  gathered,  however,  that  Miss  Vivian  had 
large  means  or  large  expectations;  and  then,  when  Miss 
Vivian  disappeared,  and  when,  first  on  the  golf-course 
and  subsequently  in  a  motor-car,  a  figure  began  to  be  vis- 
ible to  him  which  at  a  distance  was  indistinguishable  from 
his  wife's — when  he  gathered,  moreover,  as  he  did  from 
Colonel  O'Brian,  that  this  new  apparition  was  Miss  Viv- 
ian's near  relation — well,  you  can  guess  what  followed. 
He  lay  in  wait  for  his  wife,  who  first  doubted  his  identity, 
and  was  then  determined  to  elude  him.  At  last  she 
grasped  her  nettle.  She  met  him  by  appointment  at  a 
spot  outside  the  town.  She  took  him  to  a  place  about 
ten  or  twelve  miles  from  here,  and  there  they  fought 
out  their  battle.  As  to  the  idea  that  their  marriage  was 
legally  valid,  she  laughed  at  it.  Count  Giordano  con- 
vinced her  of  her  error.  Count  Giordano's  wife,  on  the 
other  hand,  convinced  the  Count  that  if  their  marriage 
were  known  to  her  parents  every  penny  of  her  fortune 
would  disappear;  and  she  capped  this  announcement 
with  another,  still  more  efficacious,  and  relating  to  the 
proofs  possessed  by  her  of  the  Count's  business  delin- 
quencies. Here,  Mr.  Barton,  is  a  letter  which,  during  that 
curious  time  intervening  between  Miss  Wynn's  accident 
and  the  transformation  into  Miss  Vivian  which  followed 
it,  Miss  Wynn  confided  to  my  keeping.  It  is  a  letter 
from  her  to  her  husband,  in  which  she  informs  him  that 

464 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

if  he  wishes  to  make  any  claim  on  her  his  claim  must  be 
referred  to  me,  I  having  been  placed  in  possession  by 
her  of  all  the  necessary  documents  relating  to  his  career 
and  character.  But  perhaps  it  will  be  needless  to  trouble 
you  with  this  characteristic  epistle.  It  will  be  enough 
to  remind  you  of  something  which  occurred  when  you 
yourself  were  present.  You  will  remember  that  Miss 
Vivian,  when  describing  to  us  her  troublesome  dreams, 
mentioned,  in  addition  to  the  railway  stations,  a  church- 
yard and  a  curious  cottage.  That  cottage  is  the  cot- 
tage in  which  her  inconvenient  child  lived.  That  church- 
yard is  the  church-yard  in  which  her  inconvenient  child 
lies  buried.  I  need  add  no  more.  I  regret  your  ob- 
stinacy which  has  forced  me  to  draw  the  veil  from  cer- 
tain facts  unknown  even  to  Miss  Vivian's  parents.  I 
regret  your  obstinacy,  but,  believe  me,  I  respect  your 
pain." 

For  some  minutes  there  was  silence  between  the  two 
men,  tragic  for  both,  and  for  Dr.  ThistlewTood  embarrass- 
ing. It  was  suddenly  broken  by  the  entrance  of  Lord 
Cotswold.  Then,  for  all  the  surprises  which  Dr.  Thistle- 
wood  had  inflicted  on  Mr.  Barton,  Mr.  Barton,  rising 
from  his  chair,  paid  him  back  in  kind. 


CHAPTER  XII 

I  HEARD,"  said  Lord  Cotswold,  "that  Mr.  Barton 
was  here,  and  left  him  till  luncheon  -  time  to  talk 
over  medical  secrets.  I  have  come  now  to  say  that  I 
hope  he  will  not  desert  us,  for  he  owes  me  the  oppor- 
tunity of  finishing  a  certain  discourse  which  I  left  the 
other  night  unfinished — somewhat  to  my  own  discredit. 
The  text  of  it,  Mr.  Barton,  was  the  condition  of  one  of 
your  own  friends." 

Mr.  Barton  greeted  his  host  with  an  almost  ghastly 
calm.  He  had  suppressed  every  sign  of  agitation.  He 
had  even  forced  his  lips  to  smile. 

"  Dr.  Thistlewood  and  I,"  he  said,  "  have  been  discuss- 
ing that  friend's  condition.  Painful,  of  course — painful 
from  a  personal  point  of  view,  but  interesting  to  me, 
as  a  priest,  in  respect  to  the  problems  suggested  by 
it.  Yes,  Lord  Cotswold,  I  shall  look  on  it  as  a  high 
privilege  to  hear  something  more  about  the  interpreta- 
tion that  you  and  Dr.  Thistlewood  put  on  it.  If,  as  I 
understand — and  our  friend  here  has  repeated  it  to  me 
during  the  last  hour — how  many  times  was  it,  Dr.  This- 
tlewood ?  was  it  seven  or  only  six  ? — that  in  your  opin- 
ion and  his,  and  in  that  of  the  scientific  world  generally, 
what  we  used  to  call  the  soul,  and  all  the  things  we  value 
in  it,  are  merely  so  many  patterns  formed  by  a  kaleido- 
scope called  the  brain — if  a  woman's  character  is  not  her 
character  at  all,  but  merely  the  successive  gleamings  of 
a  shot-silk  dress  worn  by  her — it  will  be  interesting  to 
me  to  learn  how,  when  we  are  all  convinced  of  this,  the 
business  of  life  will  be  reasonably  carried  on.  What  will 
become  of  our  efforts,  our  duties,  our  principles,  our — I 

466 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

won't  speak  of  morbid  emotions  such  as  love — but  our 
friendly  likings  for  one  another,  without  which  we  shall 
be  rather  dull  ?  You  began,  I  think,  on  this  subject  the 
other  night,  but  I  was  occupied  then  with  some  poor 
matters  of  my  own,  and  I  fear  I  was  not  equal  to  grap- 
pling with  what  you  were  about  to  tell  me.  I  am  quite 
a  new  man  this  morning.  I  am  ready  to  attend  to  any- 
thing. You  were  talking  about  the  Great  Sentence — a 
sentence  superior  to  anything  extant  in  the  Gospels.  I 
am  anxious,  Lord  Cotswold  —  most  anxious  —  to  know 
what  that  sentence  means." 

Lord  Cotswold,  somewhat  surprised  by  Mr.  Barton's 
unwonted  volubility,  and  a  note  in  his  voice  which  did 
not  seem  wholly  natural,  was  nevertheless  delighted  to 
find  him  in  this  receptive  mood,  and  as  soon  as  they 
were  settled  in  the  dining-room  he  took  up  his  parable 
and  began. 

"I  agree  with  you,"  he  said,  "that  these  views  as  to 
the  nature  of  individual  life  but  suggest  to  all  of  us 
those  difficulties  which  your  language  hardly  carica- 
tures. A  view  almost  as  strange  was  forced  on  the  hu- 
man consciousness  when  it  was  shown  that  this  solid 
earth,  previously  supposed  by  all  men  to  be  the  immov- 
able centre  of  the  universe,  was  really  one  globule  out  of 
many,  all  spinning  round  a  central  sun.  But  the  human 
race  has  at  last  become  accustomed  to  this  conception 
of  things,  and  with  other  changed  conceptions  —  even 
with  those  of  which  we  are  now  speaking  —  it  will  one 
day  come  to  terms,  and  my  own  belief  is,  if  I  may  say 
so  to  a  Christian  priest,  that  the  East  will  show  the  West 
the  way.  Not,  Mr.  Barton,  that  I  despise  the  ancient 
wisdom  of  the  West.  I  will  not  only  Brahminize  to  you 
in  connection  with  the  Great  Sentence,  but  I  will  Pla- 
tonize  a  little,  too.  You  are  a  student,  I  am  sure,  of 
Plato." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  "  I  may  claim  for  myself  that 
character." 

"Let  me,  then,"  said  Lord  Cotswold,  "make  a  start 
467 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

with  my  Platonizing.  For  you  the  main  foundation  of 
what  you  call  the  philosophy  of  spirit  is  the  impossibility 
of  getting  out  of  a  complex  mechanism  like  the  brain 
that  unit,  that  pin-point,  of  consciousness  which  is  what 
we  mean  by  self,  and  through  which  alone  the  world  has 
for  us  any  existence.  Now,  a  large  part  of  the  difficulties 
urged  in  this  connection  by  you  and  by  all  assailants 
of  what  is  commonly  called  materialism,  was  in  my 
opinion,  answered  by  Dr.  Gustav  when  he  dwelt  upon 
that  obvious  fact,  to  which  many  scientific  men  are  still 
so  strangely  blind,  that  none  of  the  phenomena  which 
they  study  are  of  any  private  interpretation — that  no 
one  of  them  is  intelligible  except  in  connection  with  the 
All.  The  steam  in  the  cylinder  of  the  steam-engine  is 
impossible  without  the  boiler.  The  vitality  which  mani- 
fests itself  in  your  brain  and  mine  is  equally  impossible 
apart  from  the  vitality  of  the  entire  universe.  The  en- 
tire universe,  though  to  the  eye  or  to  the  visual  imag- 
ination it  is  an  aggregate  of  parts  or  particles,  is  for 
thought,  as  Dr.  Gustav  said,  a  web  of  indissoluble  con- 
nections. If  you  compare  personality  to  the  gleamings 
of  a  shot-silk  dress,  each  dress  is  merely  one  fold  of  the 
seamless  garment  of  the  All.  Your  own  self  cannot  ap- 
pear more  absolutely  indivisible  to  you,  nor  mine  to  me, 
than  is  the  oneness  of  the  All  when  we  think  of  it  as  the 
sole  self-existing  fact;  and  when  we  so  think  of  it  we 
are  in  the  presence  of  God.  Nothing  is  in  you  or  me 
that  is  not  in  this  divine  Total.  If  what  we  experi- 
ence as  personality  exists  in  me  and  you,  it  exists  in 
the  Total  also — but  there  in  so  large  a  measure  that  it 
baffles  our  understanding.  You  remember  Plato's  al- 
legory of  the  cave?" 

Mr.  Barton  nodded. 

"Plato,"  Lord  Cotswold  continued,  "represented  the 
mass  of  mankind  as  dwelling  in  a  dark  cave  and  unable 
to  see  the  sun.  Let  me  alter  his  allegory  a  little,  and 
suppose  that,  though  not  shut  up  in  a  cave,  they  have 
their  backs  so  bent  that  they  are  able  to  look  downward 

468 


AN   IMMORTAL  SOUL 

only.  They  can,  therefore,  never  see  the  blinding  glory 
in  heaven,  but  every  morning  they  see  an  image  of  it  in 
every  dew-drop.  The  individual  drops  evaporate;  the 
sun-image  that  was  in  each  ceases;  but  next  morning, 
and  the  next,  there  are  new  drops  in  the  place  of  them, 
and  the  same  unit  of  light  is  alive  and  divine  in  each. 
What  the  dew-drop  is  to  the  sun's  image  the  brain  is  to 
the  human  self." 

Instead  of  offering  any  objection  to  this  way  of  put- 
ting the  case,  Mr.  Barton  smiled,  somewhat  vaguely, 
but  still  tolerantly.  "Yes,"  he  said — "yes.  That's  a 
very  pretty  piece  of  symbolism." 

"And  now,"  said  Lord  Cotswold,  "I  will,  if  I'm  not 
wearying  you,  pass  from  my  Platonizing  to  my  Brah- 
minizing,  and  come  back  to  the  Great  Sentence — '  Thou 
art  That.'  I  agree  with  you,  Mr.  Barton,  that  it  is  to 
the  Western  mind  not  very  illuminating  when  enunci- 
ated without  commentary;  but,  with  the  aid  of  what  I 
have  just  been  saying,  I  can  now  make  it  more  intelligi- 
ble to  you.  When  the  Eastern  philosopher  says  to  the 
individual  seeker  for  truth,  meditating  on  his  own 
nature,  'Thou  art  That,'  he  means  by  his  'That'  the 
sum  total  of  things  from  which  in  ordinary  life  the 
'Thou'  is  accustomed  to  distinguish  itself.  There  is  a 
story  told  of  a  great  Eastern  saint  which  will  bring  the 
idea  home  to  your  sympathies  as  well  as  to  your  under- 
standing. The  aim  of  this  man's  life — poor  heathen  as 
he  was,  he  did  not  enjoy  even  the  privileges  of  a  Chris- 
tian dissenter — was  the  achievement,  as  it  was  with  the 
heroes  of  your  own  Acta  Sanctorum,  of  union  with  the 
divine  nature;  and  the  story  represents  him  as  coming 
again  and  again  to  the  door  of  the  Lord's  heart,  and 
standing  without  and  knocking.  On  each  occasion  the 
Lord  asks,  'Who  is  there?'  And  again  and  again  the 
saint  answers,  '  It  is  I.'  But  so  long  as  he  answers  in 
this  way  he  is  told  that  he  cannot  enter.  At  last  a  day 
comes  when  the  question, '  Who  knocks  ?'  being  repeated, 
the  saint  answers  not,  '  It  is  I,'  but,  '  Lord,  it  is  Thou 

469 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

Thyself.'  Then  the  door  opens,  and  the  saint  and  the 
Lord  are  one." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  "the  saint  and  his  Lord  were 
one.  Precisely.  Such  a  union  is  the  object  of  all  sanc- 
tity." 

"I  mention  this  story,"  Lord  Cotswold  continued, 
"  not  because  it  solves  for  you  or  for  me  all  the  practical 
problems  which,  as  you  rightly  say,  will  arise  if  the  world 
at  large  ever  realizes  that  conception  of  the  individual 
which  the  division  in  the  personality  of  that  friend  of 
yours  has  at  least  presented  to  your  imagination.  It 
does  not  solve  these  problems,  but  it  shows  that  this 
conception,  to  us  novel,  has  been  familiar  to  the  mind 
of  a  civilization  far  older  than  our  own,  and  that  it  is  ca- 
pable of  being  invested  with  a  profound  religious  signifi- 
cance. I  will  say  more.  How  does  the  Christian  religion 
profess  to  reveal  God  to  us  ?  Through  a"  man — through 
the  Word  made  Flesh.  It  is  only  through  being  trans- 
lated for  us  into  terms  of  our  own  nature  that  the  In- 
finite and  the  Ineffable  has  assumed  for  us  any  definite 
meaning.  What  the  Word  made  Flesh  is  for  all  of  us, 
according  to  your  own  theology,  that  are  we  all  for  one 
another,  according  to  these  revelations  which  science  is 
now  forcing  on  such  of  us  as  have  eyes  to  see.  In  so 
far  as  we  each  of  us  experience  what  we  know  as  our 
own  selves,  we  experience  and  we  embody  the  working 
of  forces  which  are  part  of  the  divine  Infinite.  In  our 
affections,  whether  friendship  or  love,  we  are  parts  of 
that  desire  and  will  in  virtue  of  which  the  worlds  endure. 
A  part  of  our  actions  results  from  what  we  know  as 
conscious  motive,  and  aims  at  a  known  object.  Another 
part  of  our  actions — and  possibly  a  part  much  larger — 
results  from  impulses  which  lie  beyond  our  ken,  and 
which,  though  they  carry  us  on  their  current,  we  have 
not  learned  the  art  of  translating  into  terms  of  reason. 
Into  what  terms  of  reason,  motive,  and  emotion  men  will 
translate  their  new  knowledge  of  themselves  as  parts 
of  the  universe,  growing  out  of  it  and  then  disappearing 

470 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

into  it;  how  they  will  view  such  cases  as  that  of  Mr. 
Barton's  friend — cases  in  which  some  personality,  per- 
haps loved  by  some  one,  dies  the  most  indubitable  of 
deaths  by  being  changed  before  our  eyes  into  another — 
of  this  I  know  no  more  than  Cato  knew  of  the  religion 
that  produced  St.  Francis.  But  this  I  do  know:  that 
faith  must  follow  knowledge — not  in  the  beginning,  but 
in  the  end.  The  conquest  of  new  knowledge  may  be 
rapid.  The  assimilation  of  it  will  be  comparatively 
slow,  and  faith  will  be  bruised  and  molested  by  it  long 
before  it  submits  itself  to  any  confessed  change.  Mean- 
while," said  Lord  Cotswold —  But  a  sharp  sound  inter- 
rupted him.  He  had  not  observed  that  during  the  last 
few  minutes  Mr.  Barton,  in  an  aimless  way,  had  taken 
up  his  knife  and  had  been  playing  with  it,  very  much 
as  a  child  might,  and  this  knife  had  by  accident  dropped 
ringing  upon  his  plate.  At  the  same  moment  a  servant 
announced  a  visitor. 

Lord  Cotswold  turned  to  Mr.  Barton  with  a  rapid 
change  of  manner.  "When  you  lunched  with  me  last," 
he  said,  "we  were  honored  by  the  unexpected  advent 
of  a  very  delightful  lady  who  was  escaping  from  her  own 
cook.  The  cook  has  not  improved,  and  the  delightful 
lady,  on  occasion,  still  finds  refuge  in  mine.  I'm  sorry 
that  our  conversation  should  be  interrupted.  I  was 
very  anxious  to  tell  you  my  candid  view  of  the  faith 
which  will  not  yield  to  the  first  onslaughts  of  evidence." 

"My  dear  Lord  Cotswold,"  said  Lady  Conway,  "don't 
get  up,  don't  order  anything  back — not  even  the  tepid- 
est  cutlet.  Let  me  have  a  chair  next  yours.  That  will 
be  feast  enough  for  me.  My  dear  man,  I've  lunched 
already,  so  allow  me  to  have  my  own  way.  Or,  no — 
you've  not  yet  had  your  coffee.  You  shall  give  me  a 
cup  when  the  time  comes,  and,  meanwhile,  may  I  make 
a  suggestion  ?  I  see  here  a  person — no,  Dr.  Gustav,  it's 
not  you — to  whom  I  have  something  to  say  of  a  very 
particular  kind.  Mr.  Barton,  I  was  on  the  point  of 
writing  to  you,  but  to  talk  will  be  much  better.  Lord. 


AN   IMMORTAL   SOUL 

Cotswold,  may  I  take  him  into  the  drawing-room,  and 
we'll  come  back  to  you  for  our  coffee  afterward?" 

In  response  to  a  look  from  Lady  Conway,  Mr.  Barton 
had  risen.  "Certainly,"  he  said;  "I  shall  be  delighted." 
With  a  gesture  of  dignified  amity  she  laid  a  hand  on 
his  arm,  and  the  two  passed  slowly  together  down  the 
long  room  toward  the  door.  Before  they  reached  it  her 
communications  to  the  priest  had  begun. 

"I  suppose,"  she  said,  "that  a  man  with  your  means 
and  talents  does  not  intend  to  bury  them  in  the  napkin 
of  a  semi-fashionable  watering-place?" 

"You  refer,  I  presume,  to  Southquay?"  said  Mr.  Bar- 
ton, with  his  hand  on  the  door-handle.  "Certainly  not 
— certainly  not.  I've  determined  to  leave  already." 

"What  can  be  afoot  now?"  said  Dr.  Thistlewood, 
when  this  strangely  assorted  couple  had  disappeared. 
"Do  you  know  that  all  the  time  you  were  talking  to 
that  man  at  luncheon  he  was  not  aware  of  a  single  word 
you  said?  Nothing  would  have  surprised  me  less  than 
to  have  seen  him  drop  down  fainting." 

"Good  God,"  exclaimed  Lord  Cotswold,  "you  don't 
say  so!  I  thought  that,  for  a  clergyman,  he  was  listen- 
ing to  me  with  unusual  patience.  What  has  happened 
to  him?  Is  he  ill?  Or  has  that  case  of  his  friend, 
which  you  and  he  were  discussing  together,  disturbed 
him?" 

"You  say,"  replied  Dr.  Thistlewood,  "that  he  lis- 
tened to  you  patiently.  That  case  has  so  disturbed  him 
that  he  is  beyond  the  reach  of  impatience.  Facts  con- 
flicting with  faith,  which,  if  the  reason  of  the  believer 
views  them  from  a  distance,  and  as  a  spectator  only, 
are  passed  by  and  forgotten  like  the  death  of  a  distant 
soldier,  have  entered  this  man  through  his  own  personal 
sympathies  and  have  torn  him  like  an  explosive  bullet. 
There  is  in  his  creed  no  poppy  or  mandragora  which  will 
medicine  him  to  his  old  repose." 

"Indeed!  "  said  Lord  Cotswold.  "What  you  tell  me 
is  interesting.  If  his  faith  is  mortally  wounded  I  should 

472 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

mourn  for  it  as  for  a  lost  friend.  But,  my  dear  Gustav,  I 
believe  that  your  fears  are  needless.  In  the  case  of  men 
like  Mr.  Barton  faith  is  beyond  the  reach  of  wounds. 
It  may  be  stunned,  but  it  will  not  die;  and  its  life  after 
every  blow  will  be  yet  more  obstinate  than  before. 
Obstinacy  like  this  may  to  us  seem  the  obstinacy  of 
folly.  In  part  it  may  be  so,  but  it  is  something  else  be- 
sides. If  logic,  if  reason,  if  evidence  were  the  sole  sup- 
ports of  faith,  the  old  faiths  by  which  men  have  lived 
would  decompose  far  more  rapidly  than  any  new  faiths 
could  construct  themselves.  In  times  like  these  in  which 
our  own  lot  has  been  cast  the  whole  continuity  of  the 
world's  higher  life  would  be  broken  if  the  churches 
and  men  like  Mr.  Barton,  who  represent  their  spirit, 
were  not  ready,  in  defiance  of  reason  and  evidence,  to 
protect  the  existing  bottles  while  the  new  are  being 
slowly  fabricated:  and  what  the  new  bottles  will  be  that 
can  hold  your  hopes  and  mine,  or  of  what  material  they 
will  be  made,  neither  you  nor  I  can  conjecture.  What, 
Lady  Conway!  Is  the  interview  over  already?  And 
where  is  your  spiritual  director?  I  hope  you  have  not 
frightened  him  away!" 

"No,"  said  Lady  Conway,  "but  he's  gone,  and  he 
sent  you  any  number  of  apologies.  This  fortune  of  his 
has  for  the  moment  turned  his  head — not  with  pride — 
I  don't  mean  that  at  all — but  by  worry  over  business; 
and  about  business,  as  I  know  to  my  cost,  most  clergy- 
men know  nothing.  But  Mr.  Barton  will  very  soon  be 
equal  to  all  occasions.  He  had  thought  everything  out. 
I  was  surprised  by  the  clearness  of  his  ideas  and  the 
promptness  with  which  he  expressed  them.  This  was 
flattering  to  my  own  vanity.  I  have  long  had  an  eye 
on  Mr.  Barton  as  fitted  for  something  more  important 
than  preaching  to  old  women  at  Southquay  and  drink- 
ing tea  with  them  afterward,  and  now,  with  this  money 
of  his,  his  equipment  as  an  apostle  is  complete.  I  have 
just  been  able  to  offer  him  the  living  of  St.  Stephen's; 
the  place  is  on  our  property,  just  outside  Manningham. 

473 


AN    IMMORTAL   SOUL 

There  are  thirty  thousand  people  in  the  parish,  a  mag- 
nificent church  to  be  decorated,  mission  halls  to  be  var- 
nished, and  ten  thousand  Radicals  to  be  humanized  by 
the  ministrations  of  an  ascetic  Conservative.  Mr.  Bar- 
ton leaped  at  the  proposal.  There  was  something  al- 
most uncanny  in  his  eagerness.  The  bishop  is  delighted. 
I  wrote  to  him  a  week  ago  about  it,  and  I  sent  him  a 
copy,  cut  out  of  a  Southquay  paper,  of  a  sermon  which 
Mr.  Barton  preached  here.  I  think  it  was  on  the  sub- 
ject of  confirmation.  The  bishop  thinks  that  Mr.  Bar- 
ton will  be  an  admirable  man  for  refuting  some  of  the 
professors  at  the  new  Manningham  University,  who  at- 
tack the  doctrines  of  the  Church,  he  says,  simply  because 
they  do  not  understand  them." 


THE    END 


JfiSOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000137886     8 


